


Love Extensions

by Dragon_Mage



Series: They Are Called Family [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Sexual Assault, Torture, What does it really mean to be a Spy?, attempted suicide, family values
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 159,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Mage/pseuds/Dragon_Mage
Summary: With everything falling to pieces within Mann Co, several teammates and enemies team up for a road trip. They have a mission, and if they fail, Mann Co could very well fall into Gray Mann's hands.





	1. It is Over for the Spies

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the newest installation!  
> I hope you enjoy this story, a sequel to 'Her Name' and "Allies in Love.'

For a Spy, life can be boring and even lonesome, at least without the constant backstabs and manipulation of others. For an untrained Spy, this was not the walk in the park he was told about. Even after he figured he had gotten things down, everything just got worse and worse, until he could barely handle it. And all the while, mercenaries of all classes would joke about Spies being the laziest cowards of all killers.

That was not the hard part though. Dealing with people was why he took up this job. He was passionate and authentic, even when he was lying. People really liked that about him.

The difficult element to this were the other factors. An incident here. A relationship there. A death to cover the entire span of one’s mind.

Trying to play off an unintentional death might not have been so difficult if he were not so good with people. He was too good with people. That was what drew them to him, and that was what drew him to them. That was how he got hurt.

 

Maurizio sat himself down next to the BLU Scout. He felt like fidgeting about, though he did his best to keep his composure and calm himself down. Already, the quiet of this area, aside from the noise of some game show on the television, was drawing him into his own mind, causing him to think about Price. He pushed thoughts of the other Scout away, forcing himself to not think about it. He could not risk losing his composure this close to a Scout.

“Man,” Drake sighed, flopping back on the chair.

“What is it?” Maurizio asked, not looking at the younger man.

“I’m already bored,” the Scout sighed, “Kinda wanna go ahead and go find Melisa and Sniper and them.”

“You would not find anything to do,” Maurizio ignored the twitch in his fingers that desired to pull out a cigarette. Maybe he would go outside and satisfy his crave.

“Well maybe there is something I can do,” Drake shrugged, “Maybe they need help with something.”

“Unlikely,” Maurizio’s hand twitched, incessantly begging for him to pull out a cigarette.

“What are you going to do then?” Drake asked, with a frustrated tone and an unruly slouch to his shoulders.

Maurizio eyed him from the corner of his lids, “I’m going to go have a smoke.” He finally rose from his chair and headed out the front doors, to obey the cravings that commanded him.

He was a little surprised when he found Drake following him outside. He found an alcove, where hospital had a decorative arch that held a tangled mess of creep vines. He did not waste time in lighting a cigarette, taking a deep drag, but in a careful manner. He did not want to let on anything to Drake.

_“Calm down, Réne, Maurice has got this,” Price had insisted._

Though they had always been enemies, Maurizio had always been friends with Price. The two had spent enough parties together drinking and having a good time. They had even shared some inside jokes that even Bleu did not know about.

As Price’s last words ran through his mind, Maurizio restrained his arms from hugging himself. It was a strain on his mind, remembering what he had done, just after what the boy last said. That was when he realized that although he had been enjoying the Scout’s attention, he really needed Drake to walk away at the moment.

“Mind if I…” Drake’s voice trailed off for a moment, before he gathered the strength of his throat, “Mind if I bum one of those off of you?”

Maurizio reached into his case to grab out another one, handing it to the younger man gracefully. He pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette end, while the Scout puffed on it. He immediately began coughing, unused to the smoke.

“You don’t smoke,” Maurizio stated, “You shouldn’t start.”

“Today has been pretty stressful, you know,” Drake commented, trying to get a handle of holding the cigarette the way Maurizio was.

Maurizio was silent, putting the cigarette to his lips in an attempt to forget his worries. Every moment of its taste brought him back to a place of calm. He did not need the nicotine right now, just the familiarity of something in his mouth, with that flavor that paired well with wine – or a good fuck.

Drake could not handle the calm and quiet atmosphere, fidgeting uneasily. He was practically bounding on the balls of his feet. He looked like he might dart off and start running laps around the hospital block.

“How do people entertain themselves at a hospital?” Drake asked through a coughing fit.

Maurizio paused to let out a smoky breath. The air was getting colder now, as if the storm was coming for them. It made his bitter feeling get colder, bringing his feelings back to the death of the other BLU Scout. Guilt was an overwhelming emotion when one focused on it.

“Hmm…do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” the Scout asked.

Maurizio gave him a curious raise of the eyebrow, “What do I think what’ll be?”

“The baby!” Drake rolled his eyes, “Duh!”

Maurizio shrugged and turned his attention back to the cigarette. He would tend to this conversation, given that it would distract him from his internal turmoil. He needed that distraction like he needed the taste of his cigarette right now. He could not let the Scout know that though, he was still a Spy after all.

“Hard to tell, it has been hiding in a woman’s womb,” Maurizio replied.

Drake scoffed, “I mean a guess! You know? Like, how…what do you think it’ll turn out to be?”

“It is hardly up for debate,” Maurizio stated, feeling a bit more distant from the Scout the more he spoke, “Once it is born, it will be revealed what nature decided.”

“It’s just a guess, man!” Drake exclaimed, with an irritated sigh.

Maurizio sighed. He was not doing very well at cultivating this conversation. He was pushing the Scout away, he knew that. He needed to not do that, so that the youth would continue to distract him.

“How would you guess?” Maurizio asked.

The Scout grinned, “My ma used to say that the way the mom’s belly sat determines how it is going to come out. Baby boys are heavier, so they sit lower. So I would say it is going to be a boy! A little Sniper boy! Hah!” Drake started laughing gleefully at the thought.

Maurizio paused, giving the explanation some thought. It seemed like the reasoning behind how the Scout chose this made sense. To some extent it seemed like the youth was correct to guess this way. Up to this point, it had been a fifty/fifty toss in the air, as to whether it would be female or male. Though, sex and gender never mattered to Maurizio, and he imagined it did not matter to the parents either – they would still love the babe.

“Well then, I guess that it is a girl,” he lied. He would have agreed, but just to keep the conversation going, he decided to go against the grain.

“Why is that?” Drake quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Melisa has been acting a bit motherly, hesitant even. Yet, she has even taken on a powerful side to her, one that I think expresses the child’s boldness as a female,” he lied through his teeth, creating the best bullshit he could come up with on the spot.

Drake nodded, accepting the answer. He returned to his cigarette, and his coughing fits. It seemed that this one would learn the hard way about smoking.

 

On the way back from the hospital, Maurizio pondered the curiosities of life. He had a cigarette to occupy his fingers, distracting him from the mundane silence that was only filled by the swishing of windshield wipers and the soft snores in the back seat. Bleu was certainly not up for entertaining, not that he would want to be entertained by his ex.

With how unappealing it would be to go over what Bleu thought was wrong with their relationship, Maurizio remained silent, leaning towards his door. Inside he felt rotten, like everything about him was all wrong. He hated himself. He hated who he had become.

Bleu had told him to calm down. That this was just like any backstab. He was a Spy, after all. He was supposed to be an assassin.

But, he was not an assassin. In truth, he never was an assassin. Before being hired, he just took credit for some other guy’s killings because it was easier than facing the men who cared about the guy who did them. Now here he was, sitting in the passenger seat, instead of driving. He was smoking a cigarette and pouting about his broken relationship, instead of mucking about in Sicily, with a cute girl on his arm and a secret lover boy from Greece to sneak to his bed.

He was a racer at heart. He had been a playboy and a winner. He was a playful person, somebody everybody liked. It got him so many places that he could not believe.

Who was he now? Who was he supposed to be if he was no longer a driver? Who was he now if he could not even get his longtime lover to like him anymore? It was not as if his lover could get any other guy, he was picky, prudent, and old.

Where had his youth gone? He lamented that he had left all fun things behind. That he had not been able to pay his debts and mature and grow like he otherwise would have. He would have gotten out of prison eventually, he would have paid his dues to the family, and then he would have moved on to say his apologies to that sweet girl he knew from secondary school. _He_ could have had a wife and kid by now.

He ended up here though. Cowed by fear of what would happen to him in prison, he had joined Mann Co. Now here he was, a supposed Spy and master of infiltration. A Spy should not lament his past, he thought. He should be looking on it with fondness. But, while he had a past, Maurizio still felt too young to look back with anything but frustration and regret.

The clearing of a throat caught his attention, and he glanced at the driver. The older Spy was watching the road, a careful driver, careful with everything. Careful with a car, careful with others in his care. Careful with a young fool’s heart until it was time to break it.

Maurizio thought about Bleu, pondering how he ended up here with him. While not the most handsome of Frenchmen, Bleu had charmed him in the worst way. How could he have, at the peak of his prime, when he could have had the local Mexican girls swooning over his Italian accent, gotten himself twisted around this Frenchman’s finger?

Bleu started up in Italian, “It is raining very heavily now, isn’t it?”

Maurizio glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Just to spite him, he said nothing, and returned his attention to the cigarette. He had nothing to answer for.

“You could make polite conversation,” Bleu said angrily, in English.

Maurizio wanted so badly to tell him off. He knew that would not help things along though. He wanted to say something nasty to the BLU Spy, but that would not get him anywhere either.

Bleu slammed his palms into the steering wheel angrily, “Dammit Maurice! I am trying to be polite!”

Maurizio glanced over his shoulder at the back seat. The Scout had been startled to full awakeness, but the each Demo was still sleeping hard. It was sad to think that Forbes was straight as a board, because the way Donnovan had fallen asleep on top of them made them out to be the most adorable couple. They would have been the most adorable couple that Maurizio ever saw.

“What’s…what’s going on?” Drake mumbled sleepily. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

“Réne is having a hissy fit,” he explained. That made the Frenchman grit and grind his teeth in anger. Maurizio relished that for a moment. “Don’t worry, he’s a safe driver,” he stated, hoping to calm the American youth, “You can go back to sleep.”

Drake took a deep breath and let his head fall back, “Mmkay.”

Bleu took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He seemed to have calmed down. Maybe it was Maurizio’s comment about him being a safe driver. He wanted to snidely make the point that it was not about him – and he only complimented Bleu’s driving to make Drake calm down and go to sleep – but saying anything bad about Bleu’s driving might wake the kid.

Bleu softened his voice this time, resuming in Italian, “You are frustrating, Maurice.”

“I could say the same,” he let out a breath of smoke, watching it pour out of the crack in the window. It was about time to close up the windows, as rain water started sneaking into the vehicle.

“Maurice, could you listen to me…for once?” Bleu asked.

“I’m listening,” he half lied, keeping his eyes out of the window.

“If everything is left when I say right, with you…then how are we going to make this work again?” Bleu asked, reaching into his jacket for a cigarette.

He put it in his mouth and started digging for his lighter. His hand was moving around a lot though, searching almost endlessly. Maurizio watched him cautiously, wary that the man was lying with his gestures, the way he always did. Normally Maurizio did not care, and normally he would simply light the man’s cigarette for him. He never realized how much Bleu liked that gesture, seeing how long the Frenchman waited for it.

Maurizio refused to get out his lighter, leaving it in the pocket of his jacket where it belonged. He would make Bleu dig out his own lighter, and remember that Maurizio was still upset with him.

“Some assistance, please?” Bleu finally asked, giving him that fawn, doe-eyed look.

He was so fond of that look that he had to look away. It was a heart breaking feeling. It hurt him on the inside, feeling like love was right there on the edge and all he had to do was hold out his hand. He was too hurt though. So much had happened, he could not just let Bleu’s words and his harsh treatment go. Nothing was truly settled, if he thought about it.

“Maybe I don’t want to make this work again,” Maurizio stated, forcing the words out with anger.

He could see Bleu’s surprise from the corner of his eye, “You don’t mean that!”

For once, Maurizio wanted to be right. For once, he wanted to rub Bleu’s nose right in his own words. For once, he just wanted Bleu to be humbled.

“I mean that,” he said simply.

He saw Bleu’s hands tighten around the wheel but there was silence. It went on for a long while before Bleu finally lit his own cigarette. The growing tension started to make Maurizio feel agitated, as if Bleu might snap at him out of spite.

Bleu switched to French, “Unbelievable.”

Maurizio switched to French as well, “Believe it, because I am done with you.” There was so much anger and spite in his words that ate down to his core, and he absolutely loved it.

Suddenly the car stopped. Bleu slammed on the brakes so hard that their heads bobbed forward. The Scout fell all the way onto the center console, barely catching himself with his hands.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Drake exclaimed with a scoff.

Bleu turned to Maurizio and spoke in clear French, “Fine. I’m done. I am not driving you. I am not taking care of you. I am not doing this shit anymore.”

“This is my car,” Maurizio replied in Italian.

There was a long silence as the two of them glared each other in the eye. So much was lost in that moment, Maurizio thought. They used to gaze at each other with fondness and happiness. There had been moments of ecstasy and joy in looking the Frenchman in the eye. Now he just wanted to glare harder.

Without moving his eyes, Bleu started unbuckling his seatbelt and opened the door. Maurizio turned to do the same, not caring to hold a staring contest since they were switching seats. Bleu clambered out of the car first and relit his cigarette.

“Yo, Maurice! What’s going on, man?” Drake asked, feeling lost at not understanding French or Italian.

Maurizio took a deep drag of his cigarette as he stepped out into the cool mountain air. It was nice out here, among the trees that seemed fairly wild. They were not very far from the city though, so there was no doubt in his mind that there were people who came to trim back these trees and keep them contained.

He passed Bleu as he walked around to the driver side door. But, Bleu slammed the door shut and stood on the side of the road. He just stood there, one hand tucked under the arm that pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He looked like such a fussy child.

“Bleu, get in,” he demanded.

“No,” was the simple response. The BLU Spy’s eyes strayed off into the trees across the street.

“Bleu!” Maurizio barked, “I am not sitting here for you to pout!”

“I told you, you weren’t serious about what you said,” Bleu growled, “But, I am always serious. This is not a game. I will not play around with you, Maurizio. You want to play? Find a fuckboy. That, or grow the fuck up!”

“Fine,” Maurizio glared and climbed into the car. He did not wait for further response, before he started driving. He buckled his seatbelt and adjusted his mirror as he accelerated.

“Uh…Maurice? You just left Réne back there,” the Scout spoke up, leaning over the center console.

“Yes, I am aware, Scout,” Maurizio replied, trying to keep his calm. He was serious about his words, this time he meant business. He would not take Bleu back for the world.

He glanced into the rearview mirror at the Scout. He looked so confused, and almost a bit panicked. He was looking back at the Spy, unsure of what to do for his teammate.

“You can go back to sleep,” he assured Drake, “We will be at the base in a short while.”

“What about Réne?” the youth asked, hesitantly.

“Fuck him,” Maurizio rolled his window down to tap the ash off the end of his cigarette, “He wants to be a bitch, let him. I am not going back for that insolent prick.”

“Uh…oh…okay,” Scout hesitated, leaning back in his seat.

From this angle in the rearview mirror, Maurizio thought the Scout looked real good. He envied any woman who turned the youth’s head, even just for a moment. He would have liked to have such a fine looking man to bounce off of, after this eventful, and extensive, break up with Réne. At least he could say that it was finally over.


	2. Two Spies, One Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other RED Spy wants Maurizio to trust him and to go with him. There seem to be too many traitors among them.

Maurizio headed to the RED base to hide in his room. Bleu could easily find him there, but he figured he had at least a good hour and a half before he even reached the area. Bleu might even be too tired by then to bother coming straight to Maurizio. It was only a hope though, since Bleu could be rather persistent when he really wanted something.

He did not want to bother with Bleu again, though he knew the man might come and find him. There was no place left to hide from Bleu either. His own room was a sanctuary no more, not that he had wanted it to be in the last twenty or so years.

He figured maybe he would grab a few things, stuff them in his car and head to a hotel. It would be nice to get away for a while. Of course, he would get into some trouble, but Pauling would soon send somebody to come and find him and then he would just fill out the paperwork and pay the penance.

He was about to open his room, when a hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched and turned to see a gloved appendage. He followed the arm up to the RED balaclava. The eyes were taking him in with this stern expression. The lips were drawn into a thin and unimpressive line.

“Hello there,” he gave the other Spy a questioning look.

“A word,” was all he said, before turning and walking away. He did motion for Maurizio to follow, but nothing more.

With an irritated huff, Maurizio followed at a distance. He kept his aloof nature always apparent, but he did not let on that he was wary. The other Spy would never know that he was very wary of him, aware that at any moment the other RED could strike as a traitor.

It would not faze him either. He was amazed that Dooley, one of the kindest men he ever knew, had turned out to be a traitor. He hated the idea of pinning him as any kind of culprit, but Dooley had been caught red handed.

But a Spy? That was an obvious catch. It would have been obvious, because Spies were secretive and devious. He had learned that much from watching Bleu at work. He did not have to think of what little _he_ knew of spying.

They came out to the cars and the other Spy paused to pull out his keys. Maurizio looked around, feeling hesitant and uncertain. He did not want to get into a car with the other RED Spy. He especially did not want to go anywhere private with this Spy.

“Here?” he asked, hoping to gain some ground in his demands.

“No,” the other Spy replied, “There are cameras still. We need to get out of hearing.”

He rolled his eyes, turning his head as he heard footsteps. Those footsteps were moving fairly quickly. In fact, they were running. He peered a bit harder, until the Scout came into view, blazing towards them.

“Oh hey, Spy!” Drake greeted. He spared the other Spy a mere glare, before turning his whole attention to Maurizio. “Where ya going?” the boy asked, with an excited smile that made his eyes light up. Such a nice smile the youth had.

“Spy business,” Maurizio managed to say.

Right over him the other Spy said, “RED business.”

They looked at each other. He was not sure if the other man was irritated with him or if he was just as stumped as Maurizio felt. Either way, he figured it did not matter.

“Right…” Drake looked from one man to the other and back, “Look…uhh…everybody here just kinda disappeared. Do you know anything about that?”

“Not a thing,” the other Spy was quick to respond.

Maurizio frowned as he thought about it. Bleu would still be walking. He had no idea where the others would be. He was sure Donnovan would have said something if they were off to party. So far, they had broken more rules in their contract than he could count. The sheer cheekiness of it was fantastic and he loved it.

“I don’t know anything,” Maurizio shrugged, “Haven’t seen Donnovan since we left the hospital.”

“Yea but…they left ahead of us, right?” the Scout asked.

“Yes,” Maurizio nodded slowly.

“They should be here then!”

“There should certainly be somebody,” the other Spy assured the youth, “Go look again.”

“Fine,” the Scout scoffed, before he ran off to look for the other BLU teammates.

“What now?” Maurizio turned to the other Spy.

He had forgotten why he was out here in the first place. Something he had to talk about with this Spy? He was not entirely sure. He began racking his brain, trying to remember what they might have been talking about before.

“Get in the car,” the other Spy demanded, as he unlocked the passenger door for him.

“What?!” Maurizio turned to him and looked at the car door.

It was a very nice looking car, with comfortable looking seats. But, in the end, he still did not trust this man. They may be teammates, but he would rather trust the BLU Scout, or even Bleu before he trusted this man. He shook his head as he stood his ground, refusing to move towards the vehicle.

“We haven’t the time for this!” the other man insisted

“If you have something to tell me, then tell me here, outside of the car,” Maurizio insisted, folding his arms over his chest. He would not budge an inch to the man’s requests.

The other Spy rolled his eyes, “Are you serious? We do not have time for this!” he exclaimed.

“You,” he paused to point at the other Spy, “You don’t have time for this.”

“For every moment we are sitting here arguing is another moment the assassin gets closer to killing the citizen,” the other Spy growled.

Maurizio hesitated, feeling taken aback. He rather liked Melisa, having hung around her quite a bit. He got the feeling she was uneasy around masked men, so he minded his space around her, but it was fun to have a woman hanging around. It was a change. And she was quite the character. It seemed to be rather easy to forget that despite being with child and helpless, there was somebody who was out to kill her.

Still, he remembered what the other BLU Spy had said. Bunching up at the hospital was a stupid idea. It could get people killed. And worst of all, it could get many innocent people, Melisa and her baby included, murdered.

He shook his head, “If we go down there, we are only going to draw attention.”

“If we don’t, then an assassin is going to kill her,” the other RED Spy insisted.

“Fine, then you go,” Maurizio gestured dismissively.

“I require assistance,” the other Spy said, firmly. “I cannot subdue an attacker on my own.”

“Are you so old?” Maurizio snickered teasingly.

The other frowned, “If there is a second attacker? Then I will be at their mercy. Even if there is one, I will require assistance getting him subdued and away from the hospital without making too grand a scene. Subtlety.”

“Ah yes, subtlety,” Maurizio rolled his eyes. He was tired of the _subtlety_ of spying.

“So, you will help me then?” the Spy requested, motioning to the car.

“I’m not getting in that car,” Maurizio pointed to the rider’s seat.

The other Spy slammed the door shut, “What is it with you? Are you that fucking dense?”

“Quite the opposite,” Maurizio intensified his glare, “I am the one keeping my head on my shoulders. And with good reason.”

They entered a glaring contest at that comment. There was silence between them for a long time, both men glaring at each other. Maurizio was starting to feel a little silly though, seeing as the Spy might truly just want his help to catch the assassin. At the same time, this was not Reliable Excavation and Demolition’s affair.

“Why do you care anyways?” he challenged, “RED has not been contracted for that mission, BLU has.”

“Then why are you involved?” the other Spy raised an eyebrow at him.

“Personal reasons,” it was not really a lie. He had gotten involved because he was hanging out with friends and met Melisa personally. He had his own interests in the people at BLU, so their mission was a little important to him as well.

“Same,” the other Spy gave him a nod.

Maurizio frowned, “I’m sure.”

It seemed that they had reentered the glaring contest. They stared each other down irritably, until the rumble of a car caught their attention. A small car was leaving the BLU base. Maurizio knew about most cars, but he did not remember that one. Maybe because it was not as flashy as the other Spy cars, nor as run down as the other vehicles. It was just a basic car with nothing particularly attractive about it.

“Huh, Scout must have found somebody,” he noted aloud.

“Or not,” the other Spy caught his attention and motioned.

They both turned to the approaching Scout. Maurizio raised an eyebrow, curious about the youth’s presence. What was he even doing there? He pondered this until Drake came to a halt.

“Hey uh…you guys like…you haven’t seen the BLU Soldier around, have you?” Drake asked, trying to catch his breath after running.

“Catch your breath first,” Maurizio laughed, putting on his most casual and playful tone.

“No, I have not seen the BLU Soldier,” the other Spy stated.

“Maurice?” Drake turned to Maurizio, ignoring the other Spy’s answer. That seemed to get on the older man’s nerves a lot, and Maurizio liked that. “You seen him?”

He finally shook his head, “No I haven’t seen him. Sorry.”

He frowned with concern. He liked Andrew. A crabby man when he first met him, but a heartwarming person with a good set of morals. He liked Andrew as a pal, and grew worried at the thought that he might be in some sort of trouble.

“Think he went for a walk and a smoke and went too far?” Maurizio offered.

These woods were nothing like the desert down in Mexico. It was a far cry from that area, and one could not simply turn around several miles away and see the buildings of the fort. In the woods, one could walk in circles, or go farther than they had intended, and they would never know about it.

“Spy thinks he’s back at the hospital,” the Scout fidgeted, “He was attacked by the Sniper.”

“Who? Andrew? Or the Spy?” Maurizio asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other Spy being disgruntled and silent.

“Both…I think,” Scout shrugged.

“Well, that’s not very helpful, Scout,” Maurizio chuckled at him. He could very well be exaggerating this whole thing.

“It’s not funny, Maurice!” Drake suddenly exclaimed loudly.

“Okay, alright,” Maurizio put his hands up defensively. He glanced at the other Spy and then back at the Scout, “Where’d he go then? The Sniper is back at the base? Or what?”

“Likely he has been looped into this whole thing,” the other RED Spy stated, dismissively.

 

Maurizio sighed with exasperation, “Who? Scout or the Sniper?”

The other Spy shot him a glare. He shrugged, as he was sincerely unsure about which person he was talking about. It was not as if English was his first language, anyways.

The other Spy rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “The Sniper!”

“Man…this is so hard to follow,” Drake rubbed his forehead.

“Anyways, wanna head down to the hospital, Scout?” Maurizio turned to face the Scout squarely.

“Sure,” Drake nodded, probably eager to be invited somewhere.

“What?!” the other RED exclaimed with disbelief.

“What?” Maurizio spared him a glance.

“You _would not_ go with me to the hospital!” the other scoffed.

“Yea, that’s to be expected,” the Scout interrupted. The other Spy turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody likes you,” Scout snickered.

The other Spy’s mouth twisted with irritation but he said nothing. He probably thought he was being the bigger person or something by not exasperating this situation. That was something Bleu would do or say.

“Let’s get going,” Scout said to Maurizio with a big smile, “We’re taking _your_ car, right?”

“Yes, we’ll take my car,” Maurizio nodded with agreement.

“See you both in hell,” the other Spy growled, as he got into his own car.

 

Maurizio was grateful for the Scout’s company. This time, he got to listen to the boy yammering – not unpleasant but certainly not fully enjoyable. It was better than whatever unfamiliar situation he would have been in in the other Spy’s car.

The other Spy started off ahead of them, but Maurizio was a faster driver. The Spy followed his lead, keeping to his pace and copying his moves along the sloping and zig zagging roads. This guy was a fast learner behind the wheel.

“Was…was all of that really Spy business, or whatever?” Scout asked him, out of the blue.

He had to take a moment to think about what he just heard. He thought back to what Scout was talking about and shrugged, “To be honest, I am not entirely sure what he was on about. I don’t really trust him.”

“Heh! I don’t blame you!” Scout laughed.

“You know him well?” Maurizio asked, curiously.

“Well, I know he used to date my mom,” Scout replied, “She tried to get me to call him dad. Can you believe that? That guy? _Not_ in a **million** years!”

Maurizio could not contain the boisterous laughter that poured forth. He started beating on the wheel, he had such a hard time with it.

“Hey! It’s not funny, man!” the Scout protested.

Maurizio could not stop laughing, “I’m sorry! I can’t! I _cannot_!”

“Come on, man!” the youth exclaimed.

“I’m sorry!” he tried to lessen his laughter, bringing it down to a chortle. He looked over at Scout and giggled. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not funny,” Scout said, grouchily, “Do you realize how many family get-togethers I had to explain myself at? About why he was _not_ my dad? Or the friends who came over? Like…the guy actually thought he could just step into my life and run it like he was my dad or something!”

“What about your dad?” Maurizio asked, curiously. He imagined the Scout would have a more vivid memory of family members than most of the older mercenaries did.

“Never met him,” Scout said, a grouchy expression on his face and his arms folded, “He was a dead beat from the start. No point crying over him.”

The boy shrugged, but Maurizio wanted to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Oh how much he could relate to that. He could not remember his own dad’s face, it had been so long, but he did still remember the pain of him leaving.

“It’s not fair when parents walk out,” Maurizio stated, as if to affirm that Scout was allowed to be upset.

“Yea,” Scout said, with indifference.

“But, you know, new parents…they don’t know what they’re doing,” Maurizio said, offering the other Spy some credit.

He was willing to step into Scout’s life, to be with his mother, but to also be Scout’s father figure. That took a lot, and Maurizio was aware of that. There were not many men who would be a father, many men to his memory only wanted the woman with no strings attached.

“Yea yea,” Scout rolled his eyes, “Nothing my ma didn’t lecture me about.”

They were quiet for the rest of the trip, but once they arrived at the hospital, the Scout could not shut up. The city was in turmoil. Cars were overturned, the streets were riddled with bullets, and the shops were devoid of people. The city had been turned into a war zone.

This was no joke, as Maurizio saw it. He did not need to be shown any other evidence that something was going on and there were not many people they could trust. So, he followed the other RED Spy, heading into a parking garage. There, the two cars were parked in the shadows, and they headed into the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to be a while with the next chapter. But it is in progress.  
> Also, if it is not clear already, the events taking place here are happening within the last chapters of "Her Name."  
> I just wanted to put some perspective on certain events before moving forward.


	3. Captive Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riding in the car is a good time for thinking.

He was not sure what he was expecting. He thought he had prepared himself for anything. He was sure that nothing could have surprised him there. Everything had been thrown out of sorts, and he felt like he was in some sort of dreamy haze, an alternate reality in which he was walking through a dream – or rather a nightmare of sorts. He could not believe it to be real, even though his hands could touch it and feel that it was right in front of him.

It was only a little surprising to find Dooley and Maxwell at the hospital, visiting with the new mother. They should have been back at the base by now. Given that the Soldier was there though, he could guess at what Dooley was really doing there. Though, he wondered if the man was still trying to harm Melisa. Standing there with a Spy’s knife in his shoulder, he looked fairly innocent.

He was in disbelief at seeing the BLU Spy there. There was the scream as the three of them arrived. Maurizio could not believe what he clearly saw, Bleu holding a knife over the helpless woman. He was about to murder her.

The other RED Spy engaged him. He was clearly the more skilled and practiced of the two, blocking every pathetic punch and skillfully whipping the knife out of his opponent’s hand. Maurizio was impressed, but it did not detract from his disbelief.

He knew Bleu for so long. He loved Bleu. He shared his space, his affection, and his life with Bleu. He never thought the man would be morally capable of murdering an unarmed new mother. It felt blasphemous, even traitorous.

The RED Spy pulled a hefty little trick that caught Bleu off guard. With his opponent off balance, he pulled the BLU away from the woman, who was practically crawling on the floor under the window. The RED had a hold of Bleu now, and he even managed to give a sweet, “My apologies,” to the frightened woman.

Of course, Bleu fought back. He flung his head back and started going wild. Maurizio could only watch, unable to bring his body to act upon instinct. He watched the man flail about like an animal, feeling so disconnected and somehow hurt. It felt like he had been betrayed, so all he could do was watch the man act in desperation to escape from the other RED. The next thing he knew, the other RED was stunned and Bleu was getting the upper hand. Still, Maurizio’s feet and hands would not move.

“Some assistance please!” his teammate called out to him, in desperation.

This was why he brought Maurizio in the first place, he realized. The other Spy knew something like this would happen. He knew about it all along. Perhaps he did not know it was Bleu, he would give the man the benefit of the doubt. But, that did not excuse Maurizio’s feelings about the situation, and how catatonic he felt.

Next to him, Drake was just as conflicted. As a BLU himself, he could not bring himself to go against his teammate. He did not seem to be thinking very hard about what that teammate had done, though that probably came with the old timers’ style of mercenary bonding.

Before Bleu could escape, the RED Engineer and the RED Medic had appeared and were subduing him. With three to one, they had easy odds and quickly forced him to the ground. He could have been the best fighter in the world, but he was not about to escape from three mercenaries like that. And being as small and leggy as he was, there was not much chance of him being the best fighter I the world. Maurizio was sure that the other RED Spy could already best Bleu in hand-to-hand combat anyways.

The other RED turned to Maurizio, with an irritated tone of French, “What the hell was that? Are you not a Spy?”

“It’s…just…” Maurizio could barely formulate a thought in French correctly. Nothing was coming to his mind appropriately. “I…why, Réne? Why?”

Everything in his mind spun and wobbled. He had to fight for control of his emotions and his state of expression. If his face had its own way, he would have had tears on his face, dripping down his cheeks. He would have been a mess, with his tone cracking in pitch from the sadness and confusion he was feeling.

“I think the reasons for his actions are not as important as getting this man out of here!” Maxwell exclaimed in French, with impatient frustration. Maurizio did not even know that Maxwell could speak French.

“Mann Co is using its own employees to clean up, after the first one did not follow through,” he made a subtle gesture towards Dooley, who was completely confused and lost to what was going on in their conversation.

“Maurizio, are you going to do nothing?!” Bleu exclaimed with frustration.

Maurizio’s eyes flared a moment, then he glared at Bleu. How dare he assume he would take Bleu’s side. After all of this? He would get nothing out of the RED Spy.

“Go fuck yourself,” he switched to Italian, wanting to use what felt the most vulgar to him.

“So uh…what’s going on?” the BLU Scout was the one to interrupt their foreign language conversation.

“I demand an explanation!” the Soldier stepped towards them, demanding their attention fully.

The Spies looked at each other. Bleu’s eyes were pleading, asking Maurizio to take his side. Of all the things Maurizio just could not believe it.

“You have to trust me,” Bleu whispered in Italian, “Maurizio, you know me! You know there is a reason. There is a reason for everything. Everything I have done. You’ll know it. Just help me.”

Maurizio tightened his lips, “I don’t think I ever knew you.” He almost did note even notice that he was clenching his hands into angry fists.

“If that is that,” the RED Spy switched to English, “Let’s be off.”

“Where are you going with him?” the Soldier demanded.

The other RED Spy paused, looking to the Soldier. There was a strange tension between them, a tension that only old rivals could have, Maurizio was sure. There was something about long-time enemies that went unrivaled by the conflicts with new enemies. The Soldier probably wanted to use this Spy as a punching bag.

He wanted to chuckle a bit at that thought. It was no wonder the man never liked him or Bleu before, if he hated Spies so much before. Maurizio and Bleu were probably the first friendly Spies the Soldier had ever met.

“As it stands,” the RED Spy paused, turning his eyes to Dooley.

The Engineer tensed, waiting for what was going to happen next. He had been under a lot of stress lately. Looking at the man as an ally now, Maurizio felt bad for his interrogation tactics. No man should have to withstand torture for the sake of answers. But, circumstances as they were, even Maurizio would not take chances.

“Probably back to base for questioning,” the RED Spy finally finished turning his eyes away from the Engineer.

Maurizio glanced at Drake, who was looking at him. He looked concerned and confused. Everything was happening so fast for him, and the switching between languages could not be helping either.

“We’ll take care of this,” Maurizio stepped forward to take the arm from Dooley. The other RED Spy slithered in where the Medic had been helping restrain the BLU Spy. The others backed up.

“Maurizio…no…” Bleu whispered, turning his head to look at him. They had loved once, but to Maurizio, Bleu had lost it all.

“And if you try anything,” Drake stepped forward, aiming his baby face blaster at Bleu’s head.

 

How strange it felt, to have the BLU so dedicated to what they were doing. Not the Spy of course, but the Scout. There was something unique about having this boy trust in him so strongly. When it was Drake putting his trust in Maurizio, it just felt so good, like something he was given unexpectedly.

But, with Bleu tied up in tape in the back seat, Maurizio felt less like focusing on the youth. It was the Scout holding his teammate hostage, keeping him in check with his gun trained to the older man’s head. Maurizio was driving, trying to keep his attention on the road and being safe. He did not want another incident like what happened before, with Price.

He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself down. He needed to clear his head, so he pulled out a cigarette and rolled down the window. Fresh air and some nicotine would help him unwind for the moment. That first drag was a wonderful relief too.

“Is this any time to be smoking?” Scout spoke up, with a questioning tone.

“I’m trying to think,” he lied.

He was trying to concentrate on what to do next on top of driving the car. Everything was going haywire, and his teammate seemed to be the only person with some form of control of the situation. At least he was kind enough to let some of that control go, he thought bitterly.

“We cannot go back to base,” the other Spy stated.

“What? Why not?” Scout exclaimed, confused and dazed by the sudden statement declining the place they typically called home.

“It’s what they’d expect,” the other Spy said, with a nod.

The next turn was not for several miles down, so Maurizio risked a glance over his shoulder. Bleu looked quite defeated in duct tape. Stripped of his jacket, which had been torn up to tie over the duct tape on his hands, he looked less like a Spy and more like a formal man caught in the wrong situation. His eyes were on the floor at his feet, as his mind sank deep into thought.

“It’s what _he’d_ expect,” he noted, turning his eyes back to the road ahead.

“What’s that matter?” Drake exclaimed, gesturing with his gun, “He’s all tied up! Guy can’t even hurt a fly like this!”

“He would have planned for this,” Maurizio lowered his voice.

He did not like talking about Bleu like this. This did not feel right or natural to him, in any way or shape. Perhaps it should be, since they were on opposing teams, being enemies of sorts, but he simply would not listen to talk about Bleu like an opponent. They simply were not like that. They had not been like that since the sixties.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Drake felt very out of place in the car. Between the three Spies, all of them spoke at least two or more languages. Maybe they spoke all of the languages in the world. For all Drake knew, they could. But, for the life of him, he could not understand that why, given they knew the language, they could not just stick to the only language that the Scout knew.

He trusted Maurice to a fault. He had gone out on a limb, trusting him over the BLU Spy, his teammate. He tried not to think about it too much, knowing that he would be kept out of the loop of information, in one way or another.

He had acted mostly because of what the Spy had done. He had already listened and learned from Soldier and the other BLU Spy, the Soldier’s friend. A teammate who could willingly turn against their mission and their team’s efforts could not be considered a teammate.

With that in mind, the Spy could not call himself a BLU. The team would out him. Not that that had ever happened, but Scout would not be surprised to see a first. He would out this guy faster than anybody.

That thought made him ponder the possibility and the consequences of removing the mask from his face. He was not a BLU, so he should take off that stupid blue mask. It was not like RED would take him, given their Spies were also against him.

“What are you looking at?” Maurice caught him off guard.

He flinched, blushing as if he had been caught with his hands in his ma’s cookie jar. The other RED Spy turned his head to look at the Scout. Then in the corner of his eye, he could see the BLU Spy looking at him.

He smiled awkwardly and held his hands up defensively. He would not touch anything. He would not even think about touching anything from now on. He had no idea how the Spy even knew what he was up to. It was kind of freaky though, kind of like mind reading.

“Just keep your gun trained on him, until we stop,” the other RED Spy told him.

“Yea yea,” Drake rolled his eyes and pulled the hammer of his gun.

 

The drive was so freaking long that Scout could not believe how long they had been on the road. He nearly dozed off a million times. Each time, his hand fell and the weight woke him. Not that it really mattered anymore, the BLU Spy was snoring. In the seat in front of him, Maurice was also snoring.

In the driver’s seat was the other RED Spy. The guy was quiet, his eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel. As Scout tried to blink away sleepiness, he saw the man’s hand on the radio, which was turned down low. He was searching through the country stations and- whatever the fuck that noise was – for a station he could listen to.

Scout shifted the gun into his lap, turning on the safety. He rarely ever used the safety, but it seemed like there was no better time than when it was near his crotch. He did not even realize he was blinking at it, until a humming woke him from his dozing. He looked up, lifting his head to listen to the soft humming.

The song was familiar, tickling the back of his mind. It was like a long lost memory, drudging up from the depths of his subconscious. It did not make sense, then again he was tired and Spies rarely ever made sense.

Still, there was something soothing about the song. It was nice to listen to. The Spy’s humming voice was not bad either. He hummed the tune for so long that Scout forgot who was humming.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Antoine glanced over his shoulder. He had seen the Scout staring at him for a good long minute, before his head nodded again. It felt really strange to be stared at by the young man with boundless energy and no attention span. Mainly because when he was around him long enough, he was usually invisible, staring at him.

Now that he could look safely back at him, he felt regret at waiting. He looked at the sleeping Scout, humming softly. There was a touch of relief that Scout was okay. It was the only reason he let the boy stay in this business, because machinery kept him alive, as much as he kept the Spy alive. Not necessary the wholesome lifestyle, but it was life all the same.

And, if Antoine was still alive, he would damn well make sure the Scout outlived him. If for nothing else, it would be for the boy’s mother. If he did any of this, it could be for her sake.

He turned his attention back to the road. He did not have a death wish, after all. He did, however, feel wary at having the BLU Scout so far from the respawn around a Spy who was turning his back on everything and everybody. When he found the place he was looking for, they would have a place to start questioning the Spy about his intentions and where he was getting orders from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not planning on this, but I ended up writing some backstory for these characters. I mean, it was already there, but now I am writing it. So expect some of that in the future.


	4. When Spies Became Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio was not always the happy cheery guy of the year 2005.

Somewhere in Mexico  
March 1963

“Maurizio Tizzone,” the enemy’s familiar voice sent a twinge up Maurizio’s spine.

How he loathed that man. How he loathed his existence and his every move to thwart Maurizio’s attempts to be useful to the team. How he hated this many who could skillfully make him look useless in one swift move on the battlefield.

He had already lost his good name, there was not much else he could lose. Maybe the respect of the RED team would suffice. But with how often he was killed in battle, and how often he was bested by the BLU Spy, he often found himself at a loss. They had no respect for him. To them, he was a coward who hid in the shadows. He was a thief who picked up anything he needed for _his_ schemes. Regardless of what his actions did for the team or what he tried for his comrades, he could not do anything.

And his frustrations all came to a boiling point when the BLU Spy came around. The man was the painful stone in his gut. He refused to turn and look at him, as if refusing to acknowledge the pain in his belly.

“Such an extensive file,” the BLU commented, walking around the RED’s shoulder. Part of him really wanted to turn to keep his back to the BLU, but that would have been a stupid idea. “A racecar driver? A pitman? A local celebrity and even hero? What a name for yourself! In Italy…” he waved some papers in front of him, as if for emphasis. That last part sounded poignant, like it was not supposed to matter because all of that was in Italy.

He wanted to punch him. He wanted to strangle him. He wanted to cause him a hundred deaths’ worth of pain. He wanted to do all of that, but kept it simmering beneath a blank surface.

He did not need to be reminded again and again of what he had been forced away from. To be reminded of a home that he could not go back to was painful. It was worse, knowing that if he went back there the people who once called him hero would spit on him. They had already spat on his family’s name.

“What’s a fast track lady’s man doing here?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest, “In the middle of the desert, with no connections, no ladies on his arms, and nowhere to go but down?”

Maurizio tightened his lips. He had to be a better Spy. He was not used to this though, having only been trained for a week before he was sent into the fray of war. Death had been a horrifying concept, but just having to kill somebody was painful. Every night he laid awake thinking about the faces on the men he had had to kill, but he had to steel himself if he was to make it through the night. He did not want to go through respawn, after all.

“I should kill you,” Maurizio said, putting a tone of loathing and disgust into his voice. He hid all of the fear and the frustration beneath the surface, never letting on how much he hated the idea of sticking his blade inside a person’s back.

“Tell me,” the BLU demanded, never moving from where he was, “Was it the gambling? Did you get in over your head? Or was it the affair? No, don’t tell me. You slept with the sister.”

His body trembled for a moment of rage. How dare he! He knew nothing about his love for Marzia, and neither did her family. None of them knew, and he did not have to explain it to them. He could only feel regret that she did not know him better.

“You’re a little too close to my base for comfort, I’ll ask you to leave nicely, since I don’t have the energy to put any effort into chasing you,” he said, putting a weary note in his voice.

“I’m curious,” the BLU pressed.

As Maurizio tried to step around him, the BLU only stepped closer, “Get out of my way, BLU.”

The Frenchman flinched, something sparking in his eyes, before his face became as placid as Maurizio’s felt. That spark had been lit up by calling him by his team name. It was a bit curious, but not much worth noting, he told himself.

He used to be into that kind of thing. Seeing the little details of an expression and pondering just what it meant. He liked people, and he liked reading people. Their expressions fascinated him, and finding a way to get peoples’ faces and eyes to light up with delight and other great emotions. He always liked those things as a younger man, but now he was in his forties, he was older and unwanted, and now he hid his face behind a mask, pretending to be something he was not.

“I’m waiting,” the other Spy pressed, though he was not sure what for.

“I’m going to sleep, see you in hell tomorrow,” Maurizio side stepped heading for the next door. He headed to his room, avoiding his teammates so he did not have to hear about their frustrations with his performance that day.

 

The next day was rather uneventful, for a day in the life of mercenaries in Mexico. What a chaotic life it should be, but after almost a year of working here, he had found the hum drum rhythm that would null him into oblivion if he let it. He often could sit to the side and twiddle his thumbs, using the cloak and dagger to keep himself safely out of the way.

He found his usual spot for sitting and thinking, intending to sit out the battle for about half an hour. He settled himself on a seat, where he could last the last of the sunrise. He was about to turn on his cloak, when a familiar voice caught him, with the sound of a decloak.

“Hiding from the fight so soon?” the Frenchman leaned over his shoulder.

He leaped to his feet, his dagger in hand and ready to fight. He lurched forward, as the two of them descended into hand-to-hand combat. The BLU was not foreign to these kinds of frays, in fact, he fell into step with every attempted jab as they started dancing.

“You’re not as good with the dagger as you are with the pistol,” the BLU noted, after wrenching Maurizio’s arm into a different position, forcing him to bend down.

He bit back the tears and the moaning of pain, “Yes, continue ragging on my abilities, see if that will rattle me more.”

He was not swayed by the comments on his abilities. He was no Spy, not for real. He was a Spy here, but that did not make it real. They had disguise kits that did the masking for them. His accent, of which he was very proud of, was covered by every disguise, and even his image, which was handsome for a forty something year old man, was hidden whenever he disguised. It was not like it took any skill to do most of this job.

True, he was not a skilled killer. He was never trained with a dagger to be a murderer. He never intended for such a career. But with a pistol he was very familiar. He had learned to shoot for Marzia, to best even the best of those her father had guarding her safety. He was most familiar with his fists, having been a street toughened kid. He had no silver spoons growing up, he earned what he got with his own hands.

What he had learned in his time though was that street fighting was never the same as a gentleman’s fight. If it was the mob, bring a gun. If it was the police, bring your wits. But if it was this French fuck who had training in combat the likes he had never witnessed, he was doomed. The man could push him around into all kinds of weird positions, ones he was entirely uncomfortable with for reasons he would rather never explain.

If he could just get a shot at him though, he could take him down with a headshot. He just needed to get away and get out his pistol. He needed the range to keep from getting caught by some other weird move, and to take aim.

“You grow more passive all the time,” the BLU held him in that position for a minute.

“That is none of your business,” Maurizio said, passively.

“You should be worried,” the BLU Spy pressed, twisting his arm a little more.

He hissed in pain, “Why do you care? Makes your job a lot easier, doesn’t? You should like this.”

“I don’t like this,” the BLU released him and pushed him down towards the ground.

Maurizio laid there for a minute. He was not dazed or confused, rather he had full clarity of what was going on. He was going to passively wait for death. There was no point to it anyways. He could hardly fight back, and the fate of the world – even those who cared about him most – wanted him to die anyways. First death of the day would mean nothing.

His back was bare, aside from his jacket and shirt. He was not sure why the other man was hesitating. He had an open opportunity, a golden opportunity, which amounted to an invitation in Spy standards.

He looked carefully with his eyes, searching for the BLU’s face. When he found it, there was sadness. That was a strange thing to find on an enemy’s face, especially this enemy’s face. This man hid emotion all the time, so the fact that he was showing it meant he either did not care to hide it or was feeling things so strongly that he could not. He carefully placed his palms on the dirty floor to push his face off.

“You’re not going to fight back?” the BLU inquired.

Maurizio hesitated and shook his head, “No point.”

“There’s a point,” the BLU said, nodding as if the answer was right in front of Maurizio’s nose.

Maurizio did not rise very far, getting just as far as his arms reached, his knees still pressed into the hardwood flooring. He gazed up at the BLU Spy, questioning the man’s intentions. It was time for his skills with people to work for him, not that they usually did with the BLU Spy. The man usually hid his feelings and emotions within a blanket of placidity.

“So this is it then?” the BLU scoffed with disbelief, “You’re giving up? On what? Why?”

“Why do you care?” he responded.

“I have to fill my day somehow,” the BLU faked a mischievous and insanity riddled smirk. It was a familiar look, but somehow, Maurizio had figured out that it was simply a tactic to rattle the senses. It came naturally to the BLU Spy, but was not attached to any real emotion that the RED could register.

In fact, the look quickly faded, leaving behind the sadness. He looked deep into those sad eyes, searching for the answers. He worried he might never find his answers.

“You’re just…” the man’s tone changed, looking sad as he turned his eyes to the flooring at his feet. There was something so forlorn about the way he was speaking now.

Maurizio finally decided to get up. The BLU was not going to kill him, there was no point in bowing and waiting for it. He got to his feet and began brushing dirt from his clothes.

“So, if you’re not going to kill me, what are you giving up for?” he asked.

The BLU shot him a glare. That was a first, the BLU had never openly glared at him, “Don’t patronize me!”

“I am only pointing out that it is strange,” Maurizio shrugged, “You’re – for some unknown reason – upset that I have supposedly given up. Yet you yourself are giving up on killing me. Yet I present a very open chance for you to do so.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” the BLU stated, firmly and loudly, “It would be pathetic!”

Maurizio rolled his eyes, “I’ve seen you perform worse kills. You’re nowhere above pathetic.”

“And what’s your excuse?” the BLU Spy asked, with a challenge in his voice.

Maurizio declined the challenge, “My personal life is not of your concern. We’re enemies here, you know.”

“Nonsense,” the BLU protested.

“It’s not nonsense,” Maurizio replied, less than humored by the BLU’s response, “It’s as plain as the colors of our clothes. It’s literally written into our contracts and sewn into our threads. Hell, I would not be surprised if there was some secret tab in my shoes with branding for Reliable Excavation and Demolition.”

“Builders League United puts theirs in the shoe, underneath the foot support,” the BLU stated.

Maurizio glanced down at his shoe curiously, “Foot support?”

“The arch support?” the BLU offered.

“Oh,” Maurizio shot him a confused look, “Why was this even important to know?”

“Oh it’s rather important,” the BLU insisted, “You should check it out sometime.”

“Fine,” Maurizio sounded bored when he responded. His state of mind quickly vanished when he heard a soldier downstairs, about to head their way.

“Au revoir,” the BLU gestured in farewell before he disappeared into a cloud of blue smoke.

Maurizio panicked, unsure of which team’s soldier was coming up the stairs. He quickly cloaked and hurried into a corner. He stuffed himself into the corner, tucking in his body so that the soldier would not know that he was here.

 

April 1963

Before the Administrator even announced their failure, Maurizio knew it was coming. What was worse, the BLU Demoman knew where he was, and was probably coming for him. Revenge no doubt. The man was always out for revenge of some sort, even in times where it seemed that nobody had wronged him in the first place.

He hurried to a hiding hole he had found some weeks ago. It was not a very good spot to stay in for a long time. Anybody in battle could find him there anyways. It was not exactly out of reach of a Pyro either. But, in the end, what really mattered was that during the no quarter round, lovingly dubbed the humiliation round by the Administrator, most people could not find him because he was hidden in shadows.

Relief hit him when the Demoman passed right by him. He suppressed the sigh though, not wanting to alert any nearby BLUs. That would have been his doom. As many times as he died, he was not fond of the idea of dying again.

“It seems we had similar ideas,” he froze when he heard the other Spy’s voice.

He lifted his eyes and slightly turned his head to see the BLU. He was lounging now, his shoulder against a post and a fresh cigarette being lit between his teeth. Of course he would make himself look relaxed and less intimidating before the kill, it was exactly what Maurizio would do. He did this all of the time to relax his victims, causing them to underestimate his plans. Some of his enemies caught on to the act, and it seemed that the BLU Spy had taken the act for himself.

The BLU pulled his cigarette and let out a deep breath. His sharp eyes took in Maurizio with a harsh scrutiny. Last they came into hand to hand combat, they had both been armed and dangerous. And still, at that time, the BLU had managed to overpower him with his superior knowledge of fighting style.

Maurizio would stand no chance against him. He could not run, because the one entrance was practically blocked by the BLU Spy, and the other would lead him out to the Spy’s teammates. He was in a corner no less, so the other Spy had a great deal of advantage to get to Maurizio and take him down in any way he wanted to do so.

Not that Maurizio wanted to fight back. He had never been a fighter in spirit. A fighting spirit was not the same as a fighter, something that the world just did not seem to understand. If not for the energy expelling nature of the blacktop race, maybe he would have gone crazy and become a fighter anyways. The streets were never nice, and that was the only way he could have seen himself going if not for the thrill of the race.

“Relax,” the Frenchman cooed.

Maurizio remained tensed, ready to flee or fight. Considering he was unarmed and at the other Spy’s mercy, he was more willing to make a run for it. His fighting spirit was not what it used to be, after all. Age did that to a person.

“I’m not here to fight,” the BLU stated, in a more stern tone. He seemed a little irritated with how tense Maurizio was acting. He gave Maurizio an irritated once over, “I just want to talk.”

“Talk…right,” Maurizio let himself roll his eyes.

The sooner he antagonized this predator into killing him, the sooner it would all be over and he could stop stressing about it. Then he could respawn and get onto the next thing in his secluded day of his unusually mundane life. Just thinking about it that way made him yawn.

“Do I bore you?” the BLU Spy asked.

Maurizio shook his head, “I would rather just be over with this day. I have a lot of sleep to catch up on.”

“Not sleeping well?” the BLU sounded sincere in his concern that it made Maurizio wonder if he had been practicing.

From Maurizio’s point of view, this could all be a trap. He figured the man wanted a chance to toy with the RED Spy, given Maurizio was too good at reading people. While it was difficult to know what the Spy was up to all the time, he could usually tell when the man was on the prowl or making mischief. He was not that different from every other human in the world, with his habits, his tendencies, his twitches, and his rudimentary ways of behaving.

“You aren’t having night terrors, are you?” the man asked with concern.

What an odd question to ask, Maurizio thought. “No, I just need more sleep as of late that’s all,” he stated, in his blandest tone.

The BLU looked him up and down, “You don’t look _that_ old!”

“Flattering,” Maurizio gestured dismissively, “But, age isn’t it.”

“Then what is it?” the BLU Spy asked, with so much concern in his tone that it made the RED feel worried. There was even a glint of some haunting emotion in the man’s eyes, looking at Maurizio as if they were old friends. “Tell me,” the man pleaded.

Maurizio felt a little surprised, in spite of himself. Up to this point, he had been very skeptical of talking to the other Spy. He had been under a wary impression, one of concern for his own safety against a man who was a genius with a knife.

“It just gets hard to stay awake, when there’s no point to life,” Maurizio shrugged, keeping up the bored façade.

A growing worry almost came spurting forth from the BLU’s mouth, “Don’t talk like that! Don’t say that! You have much to live for!”

That was even more surprising, “I have nothing. Nothing but a ruined name, a destroyed record and this…” He motioned to his person, motioning to the clothing he was wearing. “This stupid job,” he growled.

The BLU nodded a little, “Most of us did not want such a job. It pays well though, no?”

“I could do without the pay, I couldn’t care,” he said dismissively.

“You wouldn’t do well on the streets,” the BLU giggled at him.

He frowned back at him, “I grew up on the streets. I lived the streets. Don’t tell me what I could or couldn’t handle.”

The BLU looked at him with surprise, “I’m…sorry. With your record…I just assumed…”

“That I was from a middle working class family? That’s about what certain people would like you to believe,” he remembered Marzia’s family with a bitter taste on his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” the BLU said, with an authentic apologetic tone.

There was a minute of silence between them. All Maurizio could hear between the two of them anymore was the whisper of clothing and their breathing. It seemed like an eternity before Maurizio finally decided to break the silence.

“So, what is this anyways?” he motioned between the BLU and himself, “What are you doing? What are you getting at?”

“Don’t you see? I just want to make polite conversation,” the Frenchman offered a kindly smile, an awkward smile that made Maurizio cringe a little inside.

“It’s humiliation round,” Maurizio argued, “And BLU has won.”

The BLU frowned, “Are you still hung up on the death thing? Are you really that in the mood for death right now?”

Maurizio flinched, “Well…uh…no…I just…” His voice trailed off, as his tongue did not find any definitive answers to give.

“You expect me to kill you, when I don’t want to?” the BLU demanded.

“Why don’t you want to?” he asked. He immediately regretted the tone in his words, as it felt like he was asking a toddler why he did not want to play with his toys.

“Because!” the BLU started, but then backpedaled, as if surprised at himself, “Because…” A look of worry crossed his face, like he was not sure what he had gotten himself into, but could not remove himself from the ride he was on. “Because, I don’t,” was the man’s final response.

“What are we ten?” Maurizio asked, the response was a chuckle, so he went on, “I’m serious. I don’t feel like you’re rationalizing this on an adult level.”

“No but…” the BLU was smiling, like he was enjoying this, “Maybe we can just pretend to be ten?”

Maurizio raised his eyebrows, confused and conflicted. The enemy wanted to be his friend, in some strange sort of way. This would conflict with work on many levels though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio "Maurice" Tizzone  
> Born in Italy, 1919  
> Joined Mann Co in 1962


	5. The Isolated Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists arrive at an abandoned base that is cold and run down. The perfect isolated place to interrogate a Spy and have some awkward interactions.

Antoine pulled up to the old run down base and sighed. It was such an old place that it should have been destroyed by now. Abandoned by its owners and the men who used to work there, it looked like the perfect hiding place, desolate and isolated, for questioning a Spy. It would suit their purposes temporarily, given it had no electricity or other 

“We’re here,” he announced to the car.

The other RED Spy jolted upright, surprised by the announcement. The BLU Spy groaned, pushing the now drooling Scout away from himself. Having fallen asleep on the captive Spy, Drake scrambled off of him, wiping his face on his arm.

“Where is here?” Scout asked, as he scrambled out of the car.

“Looks like an abandoned base,” Maurice muttered, as he got out of the car.

“It’s better that you not know specifically where,” Antoine replied to Scout’s question.

“But it is still an abandoned Mann Co base, owned by Mann Co,” the BLU Spy spoke up.

Antoine decided not to make a big deal about the man being a smart mouth, “It’s abandoned.”

They made their way into the RED base, where it appeared to have taken the least damage over time. The cold of the area sent the other RED and the BLU Scout rushing into the base to start up a fire someplace for warmth. Antoine took his time, guiding the BLU Spy, who seemed pretty lost in his own thoughts.

“He seemed pretty shocked,” Antoine commented.

That brought the BLU just a little out of his thoughts, curious about who he was talking about. “What are you talking about?” the man started right up in French.

Antoine went with it in French, “The Spy.”

There was a long silence as they walked. The other man was walking a little awkwardly though, making movement a little difficult. He wondered if perhaps the BLU had taken an injury he was unaware of.

“You are aware of Maurizio’s tendencies, no?” the BLU asked.

“He seemed rather surprised at seeing your actions,” he skipped right over what the BLU was saying. Normally he would not use another teammate like this, but having caught the little details about the interrelations between REDs and BLUs from Mexico – something Dooley had so kindly shared in a whisper – he had to take advantage of what he was handed. He had to, or else he was not a Spy by nature and only by name.

“He’ll be surprised by many things,” the BLU responded, “It’s in our job description to fool people, after all.”

“Not when it’s real,” Antoine was pushing the bar, pulling out his bluff.

It was not like the Engineer had straight out said that they were together. It was more of something he whispered under his breath that was not meant to be heard. Then it was the little details of the two teams and how they behaved. It was in how friendly the other Spy was with the entire BLU team. It was open and irritatingly frictional when they started fighting. All the Engineer had done was to satisfy his curiosity with a little justification of his suspicions of the two.

“It’s not like you two fought so long for nothing,” he went on, over any of the sounds the BLU Spy was trying to make, “Hard to hide something when you’re displaying your feelings in the open. Not a very decent set of skills.”

He could feel the BLU Spy tense, growing irritated with him. He had agitated him, now it was time to bring him down a few pegs. They had been working together since the man’s arrival, to keep the teams working peacefully and well. They were supposed to be coworkers, but now they were real enemies, and he needed to make that clearer than rainwater to this insolent self-proclaiming Spy.

He brought his right fist around, his other hand pulling the Spy backwards. Off balance, he did not have a chance to get into any kind of defensive or offensive stance. Antoine landed his fist into the other’s gut, sending him to his knees in wincing pain.

“It’s over,” Antoine told him, his voice laden with a touch of hatred for emphasis, “And the more you fight, the harder this will be. This can only get worse if you don’t cooperate. So, do as you’re told and everyone will be fine.”

He read that threat. He read it very clearly, his eyes shooting wide open. He stared up at Antoine with what looked like disbelief. Of course, Antoine was laying a bluff of suspicion in the Spy’s mind. That was the benefit of working at a spy, he knew he would be suspicious of his intentions. But, he did not actually intend to kill the other RED Spy, given he might be the only asset left on the RED team he could trust. He did not trust the BLU team for an inch.

Technically, he did not even trust the Scout. He was sure the younger man would kill him at the first chance he got. Meaning that once this was over and done with and he remembered once again how the RED Spy was always with his mother, how the RED Spy always pissed him off, how the RED Spy covered his own tracks by killing the Scout, then he would try to shoot him in the face.

He would not hurt Scout though. He would never do that, not intentionally. Sure, there were kills at respawn, but that was with respawn and the aid of a Medic to keep the youth in top notch working condition. He would never maim Drake.

“You’re serious with this?” the BLU had disbelief heavy on his tongue.

Antoine nodded, “Let’s go. I’m growing sick of the cold.” He adjusted his jacket for emphasis, then grabbed the back of the other Spy’s jacket to drag him along. He did not want the other two to run out and question them. It was time to sit the BLU down in isolation and let him contemplate just what he was going to say.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Scout dredged up some old seat cushions while Maurice built a fire. They sat there by a fire, built in the ruins of an old furnace, and waited. The other RED Spy eventually joined them, but he said nothing. The BLU Spy was somewhere else though.

He figured if he asked they would not tell him, keeping their secrets to themselves. They would not tell him on their own though. It started to drive him crazy as he wondered what was going on. It did not matter, as they kept the secret keeping simple by speaking to each other in French.

That was irritating. There was nothing that got on his nerves more than when somebody used French. It was not like Spy did not know Scout could not understand French. It was not like Maurice was so brain dead that he did not know that either. Normally he would get loud about his discomfort, but this time, he was sure they would not back down from using other languages to keep their secrets. They were secretive secret agents that kept secrets from people who wanted secrets, after all.

“Scout,” Maurice suddenly spoke to him.

He was a little surprised, especially at the fact that he was so pleased that somebody was finally talking to him, “Yea?”

“Do you dislike my colleague here?” he motioned to the other RED Spy.

Drake looked between them with confusion. Maurice had a kind smile on his face, the smile a cool guy would wear. The other Spy just looked disgusted, glaring at Maurice with a slowly growing glow of red on his face. It was a weird look, given how intensely he stared at Maurice, refusing to meet the Scout’s gaze.

“You don’t _hate_ him, do you?” Maurice asked, in a tone that insinuated that Drake was supposed to say no here.

Was he supposed to be nice to him all of a sudden? Was he supposed to like the other Spy to be friends with Maurice? There was no way he was going to be nice to this Spy. Even if Maurice put his trust in the man, there was no way he was going so far as to let him think Drake was tolerant of him.

The French Spy growled something in French at Maurice. Maurice was trying to ignore him, watching from the corner of his eye as that glare became more intense. It was extremely intense, and given Drake liked Maurice, he felt more anger towards the other Spy, just for glaring.

“This guy’s an asshole!” he exclaimed, motioning to the Spy with both hands, “Of course I hate this guy! He’s a fucking socio-psychopath! Or something… Look, I don’t care if you’re pals or whatever. You work together, that’s fine. But, don’t loop me in on this. I would rather be left out.” He folded his arms over his chest, with a defiant stance.

“You don’t mean that,” Maurice’s smile dropped and he was suddenly frowning with worry.

The other Spy said something in French. He seemed rather smug. Maybe he knew what Scout was going to say and he was throwing it at Maurice. He could not fault him for that, it was easy to see from a mile away that the Scout hated the Spy.

He gave the Spy a knowing glare. He could not hide his words or intentions in this behind some flowery language. Scout knew very well what the Spy thought of him in return, and he did not care.

“Go to hell, Spy,” he said, moving off to get some space.

He meandered through the dust coated hallways of the abandoned place. This base had to have been abandoned years ago, given its faulty state. It looked like it might fall over at any moment. Maybe chunks of the ceiling would start falling on him. He would want it to fall on the other RED Spy if anything. He would want to see it though, so he could hear the guy cry out to him for help. Then he would abandon him to his death. Or maybe he would ask him to beg for mercy, beg like a dog until Scout finally helped him.

After so many years of people joking about his mom, he was sick of seeing that guy around. After so many years of seeing that asshole pop in on his home, he was tired of knowing he had been with her. After so long of hearing his mother just swoon over this suave French asshole, who could have been banging several other chicks on the side, he had had enough.

He gave a window a punch, only to find that the glass was still very solid. In fact, it hurt his knuckles. He pulled away, trying to shake the pain off of his hand. He silenced his noise though, not wanting to let on that he had injured himself to the Spies. They did not need to know what kind of mood he was in, they would take advantage of that. He was sure even Maurice would do so.

He hissed in pain as he made his way in the direction of where he figured he would find the infirmary. If nothing else, there had to be a med kit in there somewhere. It would be a good idea to get some sort of ice pack for his knuckles.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“I told you,” Antoine said flatly. He shook his head as the other Spy stared off at nothing with some disbelief on his face.

He stayed where he was for a minute, trying to decide what he wanted to do. He did not want to stay there, it felt too hot. After that embarrassing moment, his face was burning, so their little campfire was like a blazing rage.

“I told you, but you did it anyways,” he stated.

Maurizio looked so ashamed of himself, “I am…I am sorry.”

He frowned at the Italian. He seemed so soft, even just to the idea of a friend not wanting to be mutual. He told the other Spy of nothing, other than the Scout’s hatred. Having become good friends with the BLU Scout, Maurizio had thought he could just make things good between them. Little did he seem to understand the repercussions of decades of fighting.

He pulled himself together and pulled out a fresh cigarette, “Don’t feel bad! Yaou did a fine job looking like an idiot.”

He got to his feet and wandered from the fire. He figured he would either check on the BLU Spy or follow his feet. One of those things had to be better than this.

 

When he actually looked up to see where his feet were taking him, he saw Scout trying to wrap his hand. He was fiddling with some things from a medkit, barely understanding how they worked. Just as foolish now as he was as a boy.

“You should try pulling it the other direction,” he told the Scout.

Scout immediately glared at him, “I’m not fucking fourteen, I can wrap my own hands!”

“Sure you can,” he said, easing some of the irritation off of his own shoulders, “Did you rip the previous wraps from punching a wall like a hormonal teenager?”

Scout gritted his teeth in a snarl. That meant yes. The boy was too predictable.

“Why don’t you just fuck off, Spy? Why you gotta come crawling around making _my_ life miserable?” Scout scoffed.

“I am not trying to make your life miserable,” he growled with irritation.

“Yea? Well, it sure as hell seems that way! Why do you even bother? Just leave me alone!” the younger man threw his hands up into the air with frustration.

Antoine sighed. What was the point anymore? He had stopped trying to get close to Scout a long time ago. He told himself that the only reason to stay anymore was because of Drake’s mother. It was all for her, wasn’t it?

Seeing the Scout here, alone without disturbances, he felt a bit distressed at the thought of leaving their relationship as it was. If he let himself think about it, he wanted to be there for the boy. He wanted to be there to help him, and to guide him, even if it was decades late.

But, he truly was decades late. Time had not done much to his youthful appearance or temperament, but the Scout had had decades to learn from. There was no reason the kid could not figure things out for himself at this point.

“Look, I guess you probably made some sort of promise to my ma,” Scout finally spoke again, “But…just let it die with her. I don’t care.”

Antoine thought about her and his heart sank. It hurt so much to think about her being gone. Even if she had been gone for a while, it still hurt. She died, but she lived on in loving memories. He would treasure those memories to his grave, but he needed better memories of his son before he went to his grave.

The feeling built up toward anger, and he grabbed Drake by the arm. He pulled him towards himself, giving him a gentle shake. He dared not handle him like this before, when they were back at the house in Boston. He would never handle his son like that.

Guilt hit him when he thought of all the times he had handled Drake like that on the battlefield. Backstabs, shooting, choking, punching, kicking, and other forms of combat had come into play during their time on opposing teams. Antoine had taken as much from Drake as he had dished out, but he still felt guilty about it. This was a his son, after all.

“No!” he declared.

“No?” Scout tried to shake him off. He also tried to pretend that he was not flustered at being yanked around.

“You heard me! I said no!” he declared, “Your mother has passed, but she lives on in loving memories in the few that remain. I will _not_ let her down!”

“And…what? You think _I_ have?” Drake sounded defensive now.

“That is not what I said,” Antoine argued, his voice a bit calmer.

“You think I just let her down, because I wouldn’t go to school and do all those things to do better, and I just went to become a mercenary? You think I failed, don’t you? You think I’m just shit, don’t you? Well, I got news for you pally!” the youth’s finger was in his face now, “I got guns better than you and fists more powerful than you, or any stinking lawyer, will ever be!”

“No!” he exclaimed, “That’s- No!”

“I’ve had enough of your shit,” Drake said, angrily, “Ma may have supported your _parenting_ antics, but I don’t. Okay? Never did. So back the fuck off and stop trying. It’s like…seventy years late or something!”

With that, the youth turned and walked away. Antoine watched, disheartened and alone with his burning cigarette. He did not even care about the cigarette anymore, he just wanted to figure out what he was going to do with Drake, and not having been a real part of his life.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio turned as he heard the Scout approach. He raised a hand in greeting as the younger man took a seat across from him. He was fairly quiet, in a deafening way that was eerie to Maurizio, given the Scout’s loud personality.

“Something happen?” he inquired.

“That other guy…he’s just an ass, you know?” Scout offered.

Maurizio paused. The other Spy seemed genuine in his interactions with the Scout. He seemed like he was well meaning in everything he did so far. While Maurizio would continue to be suspicious of the man, he did not think him an asshole though. There was no reason to think that way of him, given he had not acted in any such way.

“Why do you despise him so?” he asked, curiously.

Scout’s eyes flared with something. He shot Maurizio a glare, then turned his gaze to the fire in front of him. He looked angry with him for asking the question.

“Well?” he pressed.

“He’s an asshole!” the Scout stated.

“No…an actual reason,” he said, sternly.

“An actual reason? Isn’t that a reason?” Scout scoffed with irritated.

“Not a decent one,” Maurizio shook his head, “So far, he’s not been an _asshole_ as you claim. So, tell me, what do you have against the other Spy?”

He shot Maurizio a snarl, “Where do I start? The guy was in and out of harassing my family. He bragged about banging my mom and started a campaign of harassing me about my mother. And he’s been trying to control _my_ life since before I even started working this job!”

Maurizio was surprised having to blink away so much surprise. So, the other Spy had known the Scout since before he was a Scout? That seemed odd for Mann Co employees, especially for Mann Co employees on opposing sides. The Administrator should have considered them to be liabilities, being on opposing sides.

“Of course, guy never takes a hint…even like…fifty something years later?” Scout shrugged, unsure of how long he had been working here.

“You have known each other a long time?” he asked with surprise.

Scout frowned, “Yea.”

“Huh…” he pondered as to whether the Spy had changed from an asshole at some point. Maybe he truly was an asshole at some point in time, and Scout was just not letting it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anybody enjoying this story so far? I'm loving it myself, but it occurs to me that anybody who read the past two stories might well be disappointed that Hugh and Andrew are not in it (other than brief mentions.)
> 
> I wanted this to be a story about a different kind of love. The series has kind of taken a theme in my mind of family. Family has many different kinds of love, so I wanted to work on that.
> 
> This story will also be getting flashback chapters. For me, this is a prototype style of writing, as I normally only fit one or two flashbacks into a story, but I will be fitting in whole backstories here. I want them to be interchanging too, with the memories being related to the chapters they are squished between, to give not only depth but context to the relationships in question.
> 
> I had in mind that Scout would be Spy's son from the beginning. When I was writing Allies in Love, it was supposed to be a throw away gag, but I never used it, so I just left subtle hints, then more blatant hints in Her Name. So, if you were questioning it, yea...the BLU Scout is Drake, Antoine's son.
> 
> I also wanted to put a little perspective on Maurizio and Bleu, as I feel like they are fun characters who could easily be stereotyped if people don't understand the point of view their lives have taken. Maurizio being a friendly flowery type has not transcribed well in previous two stories in my opinion. There are many characters in literature that are written that way for comic sense, and especially paired with the revelation that he was with a man, I have since looked back and feared that people put the two into a bit of a stereotype. Maybe Bleu less, as his behaviors don't exactly line up that way. Maurizio on the other hand, has reasons for acting like a giddy little sop.
> 
> I am sorry my schedule is off for posting chapters. I have become really busy with work and I am trying to keep up with the demands. So, once I figure out my IRL timing, I will get back on track with my writing timing.


	6. Home in America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antoine met Drake when he was just a boy, and their meeting was none too pleasant.

Moutiers, France  
February, 1937

The train blasted its horn, announcing that it was ready to take its leave. The last few passengers were hastening onto its cars, while the smoke rose from the engine’s stack. A large crowd of middle class men had gathered here, among some high class elitists. It was filled with a various assortment of people, many of them about to board the next train, the one aiming for Paris.

Antoine looked at the elite, dressed in their fanciful attires and prepared for some sort of party, despite the hours they would spend in a hot and dirty train car. Sure, as rich as they were, they would spend their time sipping champaign, but the point still remained. He would not mind it so much, considering where he was going.

As long as he reached his destination, he would be happy with whatever situation he was in. He would have taken to being a struggling almsman again, sneaking onto a train as he had done on various missions. He was all too happy this time.

This time was different. This time was not a mission. This time he was not going to kill anybody, or watch his back at every turn. This time he was going to relax and soak in every little experience for himself. He was going to take this time less seriously.

Most important point of all, he was going back to America. In his mind’s eye, he had already formulated a picture of what it must look like. All of the words she had used to describe her home had formed a cute little place, squished between two other homes, with eight scraggly boys running around. He remembered some of them, but as they were today he would only find out when he got there. The oldest was already an adult living his own life.

What he looked forward to seeing most was his boy, Drake. He had been merely a sprout in his mother’s belly for three months, when he had had to return to France. Now the kid was a teenager, a strapping youth who apparently got into as many fights as his brothers before him.

He had an image in his mind of the boy he made with her. He had wanted to see him for years, and now he would finally meet him. Of course, the old worries came back to him. What would the kid think of him? Would he stand up to the image the boy had in his own mind? Would the time they get to spend together be enough for bonding? What if he is not a good enough dad? What if he was not good enough for this kid? What if she fell in love with somebody else and threw him out of their lives?

He shook off the thoughts. He had had them a million times before, so this was not the first. He had learned to shake them off, but that never got rid of them permanently. They would come back to him later, maybe in the quiet hours he would spend on the train. And perhaps again on the flight from Paris to New York.

He could not let them control him though, his training told him that. He had to keep a clear mind, ready for anything. He had to be alert for everything. Then again, he needed to relax on this trip and enjoy the experience.

He hummed with thought, the noise bringing his thoughts back to Hugh. He had told Hugh about the American woman and their child named Drake, but not much more. In parting words, his partner had said, “Do what you need for a better life. Move forward and perhaps…perhaps things will be better than you were expecting.”

A few laughs later and Hugh had taken his shoulder to say, “Just don’t bring your work home. Don’t ever do that.”

Antoine agreed to that before he left. He had experienced men bringing their work home in several forms. He would not do that to them. He would keep his life and experiences as a Spy separate from the life and experiences he would share with them in America. After all, with the pay from his last job, he would be able to retire from working entirely, with enough to put Drake through school.

He would need to get a job though. What boy could go to school and say that his father does nothing for a living? And Spy or not, it would not look good if people started snooping about as to why he had so much money and did not work. It would not do, knowing that she worked two jobs on her own.

That had to stop. He had to put a stop to her having to work two jobs. That was overkill, and she should get to spend more time with her kids anyways. That precious woman deserved to be pampered after all she had been through and all she had done for her boys.

All of those big life decisions would be made when he got there. He would have to decide them with her, given she was the one running the house. He could not just barge in with his own plan, even though he wanted to. That was something she had told him explicitly in one of her recent letters.

The cold air bit at him and he pulled his coat more tightly around himself. He needed to pay more attention, as people started to push and shove. If he was not careful, he could easily lose some luggage to some pick pocket, looking to make it big off of some middle class shmuck.

This middle class shmuck was not easy to take advantage of. He was above average, above his class, and above the rest of the world’s expectation of a man of the war. Soldiers received medals, but all he wanted was the family waiting for him in Massachusetts.

 

Boston, Massachusetts

It had been such a long trip that Antoine needed a good stretch for his legs. The train, the flight and then the bus had all been boring terrible rides. The bus had been stress inducing, between its assortment of stenches, rising off of peoples’ bodies, like cattle, and the way some men on the vehicle stared at him. He was glad that it amounted to nothing, when he got off at his stop.

Relief was short lived as he looked around the busy city. It was overwhelming, and he figured he would probably have to get a cab. That would be expensive for what could be a short ride. He had no idea how far he was from the actual house.

He went digging into his bag to search for the map he had acquired at the airport. It had to be in there somewhere, and it showed streetnames.

“Hey mister!” a child’s voice called to him.

He looked up to see two boys. One was almost old enough to call a young man, and the other looked like a twelve or thirteen year old boy. They both wore shorts that displayed their banged and scraped knees. The younger one had a big patch of bandage on his cheek, and the other was carrying a baseball mitt and ball. They looked like they had just come back from playing.

“I don’t have any money,” he told them, hoping they would not further press or beg.

They looked at each other, before turning back to him. The older one spoke, “Aren’t you Anty?”

He was taken aback by that. Anty was a nickname she had come up with for him. It was an unusual name, even in America, but he had thought it was cute of her to think of such a thing. The name coming from the young man’s mouth was a little irritating though.

“Don’t you remember me, Anty?” the young man asked, “Brandon?”

“Brandon? Brandon!” memory of the young man as a child struck him very suddenly.

“See? I told you it was him,” Brandon stepped towards him and took his arm. The younger boy just seemed to roll his eyes. “Come on, Anty,” the older of the two pulled him along towards the house, “We’ll show you to the house.”

The older boy started yammering about all of the things he wanted to show Antoine. He wanted to show him all over Boston and get him acquainted with some of the coolest people he knew. He even wanted to show Antoine to the best shopping center, which apparently had an assortment of restaurants, one of which was French.

He was not interested in finding out more about the way American culture took his culture’s food and twisted it to be something different. He was interested in finding out information about his family so he could start to bond and get to know them. At the moment, he was growing concerned with the younger boy, who trailed behind them. He seemed like he was completely disinterested in the man they were bringing home, having pulled a baseball from his pocket to toss in the air.

They walked for several blocks, before they turned at the porch of a house, where a woman and a boy between their ages were waiting. The woman gasped as she leaped to her feet. All dolled up, she should not have been jumping around, but in her anticipation, she flung herself forward.

“Anty!” she shouted with excitement, tears filling her eyes.

He could already see the fall coming, and as her ankle twisted in the heels, his arms reached out to catch her. Her scream was short lived, surprised and relieved that he caught her. She met his gaze and they smiled at each other, lovers separated by years and oceans, now brought together with their hearts racing.

He pulled her into a passionate kiss, part of him wishing he was not so near to tears. The two younger boys made disgusted noises and ran into the house. He tried to look, confused at their responses at first, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him in. How could he say no to a kiss?

 

The house was full of noise and clutter. Between the seven boys still living in the house, it was a very full place. It was so small, too small for such a large family. He felt he needed to rectify that. That would not be too hard, just pay the mortgage on a bigger house, maybe something in the suburban area.

“Well, um…” she was so nervous, pushing strands of dark, almost black hair behind her ear, “This is…this is home!”

He smiled at her, “It’s quaint.” It was a little better than the apartment they had been living in, taking into account that there were more rooms here for the boys.

“Shall I give you _le grand_ tour?” she asked, with a crooked smile on her face.

He chuckled at her, “That would be fine.”

She showed him around the house, naming every room as they went through. As they went along, she tried to introduce him to all of the kids, reminding him of who was who, and mentioning how much they had grown. Twelve years was a long time to be gone. Some of them remembered him, but even some of the older kids remembered him as a ghost who was in and out of their lives too quickly to take seriously. They all seemed to assume he was not going to be staying long.

Then they came to one of the bedrooms and she got this look about her. It was a giddy look, like she was eager to introduce him, as they slyly opened the door quietly to see the youngest boy laying out on a bed. He was throwing his baseball at the ceiling and catching it as it came back down, never quite hitting the ceiling or the fan.

“Draaaake,” she crooned a bit.

“What do you want, mom? This is my room! You can’t come in here!” the boy rose his voice defensively.

“Well, it’s also Ben’s room, so I think you can calm down and let me in,” she spoke very sternly with him.

Antoine was hesitant to get involved. He had never dealt with children before. Well, he had dealt with handling children who needed rescued, he had pulled children out of dangerous situations, he had assassinated and guarded children before, but he had never spent any time parenting. He hardly thought his experience with watching out for assassins on behalf of a child was equivalent to the babysitting levels of a parent.

“I don’t take bones from you!” the boy exclaimed.

She sighed, “Well, I don’t have any bones for you anyways.”

“Good! Then get out!” he threw the ball at the door.

Reflexively protective, Antoine grabbed the door, just in time to use it as a shield for her. She was surprised at his reflexes, but not at the ball thrown at her. She immediately became enraged, ready to beat the senses out of somebody. He knew this because he had seen this look on her before, and she had beaten a robber half to death during her bout of rage.

He grabbed her arm, hoping she was not intending to use that kind of force on the child. He did not want anything bad happening to the boy, “Why don’t we just give him his space for a while? I can introduce myself later, when he’s ready.”

She forced a smile and nodded, “Alright then. If that’s what you want.” She turned back to the door and raised her voice, opening it just a crack, “Don’t think you’re off the hook! When I get back to your room, you better pray Jesus is watching over you, son!”

She closed the door, with a satisfied smirk. She seemed so smug for yelling at him, but she did not explain what it was about. He followed her down the stairs towards the kitchen.

“You seem rather…pleased?” he inquired.

She snickered, “He’s in his room scrambling to make amends with me now. He’ll probably have a fourth of the room cleaned and some speech about how sorry he is for throwing his ball.”

He furrowed his brow, confused and concerned. He never knew of fear tactics on a child. He was not unfamiliar with them, so he knew what he was seeing when he heard it.

“That’s quite manipulative,” he noted, quietly.

“You don’t like that?” she questioned.

He felt like a wave of cold washed over his body. He was not necessarily afraid of her, just wary that he might mess things up in the relationship that had just been rekindled, “I have just not heard of this kind of tactic being used for children.”

She frowned, “What? I’ve raised nine kids so far, Antoine. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“Right,” he put up his hands defensively, “I-I’m not saying that you shouldn’t, or anything. I am not trying to step into the way. I am just…not unfamiliar with fear tactics, both in utilization and in receiving them.”

She frowned, and he could see the cogs working in her mind. She was quite frustrated with him now. Questioning her parenting tactics did not seem to sit well with her at all.

“I am just taken aback, that’s all,” he insisted, defensively.

“I’d like to see you do better,” she grumbled.

 

Later that evening, her wrath had simmered down. She was much calmer and more open to talking. They talked for hours, until late into the night. Eventually, she fell asleep with her head against her shoulder.

He could not have asked for a better way to be. She looked so pretty when she was sleeping, and he could only think on how happy he was that he was finally out of France and out of the business of spying. He could leave it all behind and have this family instead.

He was enjoying the presence of a small woman pressed up against his side – instead of the usual soldier or spy who had fallen asleep on him, or was trying to avoid sleeping in the mud – when he heard some noise. It was very late, so by this time, all of the boys had gone to bed. She was strict with the younger boys too, having escorted them off to dreamland herself.

Not wanting to be a bother, Antoine had stayed aside and listened to the way she crooned like a loving mother. Despite those fear tactics from before, she was so doting and loving. She was kind and good natured to all of her boys, when they were not pissing her off.

Curiosity got the better of him and he carefully slipped away from her. Years of practice had done him well, so he was able to lay her head down, without waking her. He walked carefully up the steps, the silence provoking his mind into thinking about whether he was armed or not. There were only boys up there, so he should not be thinking about the dagger in his sleeve or the revolver under his jacket.

He came to a bedroom door, Drake and Ben’s bedroom door. He carefully and quietly opened it, peering carefully inside. Unnoticed, he was able to watch the not-sleeping-Drake, as he tossed his ball at the ceiling. He was sitting up in bed, his back facing the door so he could look out the window, where street lamps beamed in his face. He stepped inside carefully, not yet wanting to disturb the boy, lest he woke the form of his sleeping brother on the other bed.

He was halfway into the room, when he cleared his throat. Startled, Drake dropped his ball and leaped from the bed to the window, turning in the process. He looked up at Antoine with startled glistening eyes.

“You are awake,” he kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb the other boy.

“Yea? So what? I don’t care! Why do you care? Why are you here?” the boy was not considering his sleeping brother, throwing accusatory tones.

Antoine remained calm and collected as he spoke, “I heard some noise and I came to investigate. You have been awake long? I thought your mother put you boys to sleep hours ago.”

“Yea, well, I don’t want to sleep!” Drake declared.

Antoine took a careful step forward, “You should try to get some rest anyways.”

“I don’t want to!” the boy spat, angrily.

He put up his hands defensively. The other boy must have been a heavy sleeper, given he had not yet woken to the noise. He decided to keep his tone low, maybe the boy would get the idea to keep his voice down eventually.

“Why don’t we talk then?” he offered, “My name is-”

He did not get very far as Scout started to scream, “I know what your name is! And I don’t care! Get out of my room! Get out! Get out!” Suddenly the boy bounced across the bed and darted towards him. He put his hands on Antoine, but his arms were not very strong for pushing.

“Scout, keep your voice down,” his voice raised very slightly.

“Get out! Get out!” the other boy had woken by this point, and was staring at his brother screaming at the man.

Suddenly, the door swung open behind him, making a creaking noise. He turned his head to see her storm in.

“What are you doing in here? What is going on? Why aren’t you in bed?” she turned her questions from Antoine to Drake.

“Get out!” Drake screamed angrily, “Get out! Get out! Get out of my space!”

“What’s going on?” the other boy asked, sleepily.

“Anty, go downstairs,” she took his arm, “I’ll meet you down there.”

“But…I…” he barely protested, as she moved to the boy, grabbing and twisting his little arm.

He could see her iron grip and how she twisted him about like a weak little thing. He felt something strange at seeing that, like he wanted to make her stop. He could not step in though, he reminded himself of that. He could not question her parenting tactics.

“You should be in bed!” she scolded the boy, “You know better!”

“Ow! Ma! Ma! It hurts! Let go!” Drake cried out.

Antoine winced as he backed towards the door. He hated hearing the screaming. He hated hearing him tell her to stop in that way.

“I told you to go to bed! You go to bed!” she gave his thigh a harsh smack.

The boy screamed, crying out in pain. He openly cried, with his face turning red and tears streaming down his puffy cheeks. Antoine looked away as she scorned the boy, sending him to his bed.

He managed to get out the door and a little ways down the hall. He could still hear him crying, a little more quietly now, but he no longer had to witness the boy’s tears with his own eyes. He made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, where he started a pot of coffee. Maybe a bad idea when he needed to sleep, but it would help his nerves.

When she came down, she had this air of irritation about her. She looked him up and down, as if sizing him up. He was filling his mug from the pot, offering to pour her one.

“What were you doing?” she asked, with an exasperated tone, “You shouldn’t go up and bother them when they are supposed to be asleep.”

“He was awake,” he argued, “He was making noise, so I went to investigate.”

She sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m being rude.” She walked towards him, rubbing a sleepy eye. He moved his coffee out of the way, as she beelined into him to hug him. “I am just…very protective of them, you know? Drake’s had the hardest time with everything.”

“I am sorry for overstepping the boundaries,” he said, rubbing her back with his free hand.

“It’s not…it’s not you…” she assured him, “You’re his father. You _should_ be involved in raising him. It’s just…I can’t let go so easily on the first day. Eight kids and then I get this little bundle of trouble!”

He listened to her, careful of the words she was using. He had to be sure he understood fully what she meant and what he was getting himself into. He had become very fluent in English, but he was no native speaker. He had to be sure he was understanding fully what she meant.

It was surprising that she considered Drake to be a _bundle of trouble_. In all of her letters, she had described him as the sweetest little boy in the world. Maybe that was why it felt so shocking to him, was having built that perception of a sweet little kid in his mind.

“I want you to be a part of his life,” she spoke more softly now, her cheek pressed into his chest, “I know this will be hard, but it will be better for him to have a father in his life.”

He nodded in agreement, pausing to kiss the top of her head, “Maybe I will introduce myself tomorrow.”

That thought brought the boy’s words back to his mind, “I know what your name is! And I don’t care! Get out of my room!”

He shook away the thought, focusing on the moment. Maybe the kid would be calmer tomorrow. It would serve him well to have a good night’s rest, which would do the same for Antoine, if he could just get her to want to retire for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the flashbacks.


	7. Ice Cold Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of being a mercenary his lifetime, Drake is still disturbed by torture. The Spies, on the other hand, see it as a necessary evil. Even the kindest Spy will drop to the lowest low to get answers.  
> WARNING! Please check the warnings! Please read the warnings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New warning! Please read the warnings.  
> Rape/Non-con

Only the howling of the wind filled the silence in the small barren room. The winds beat relentlessly against the single window, which was so old it that threatened to break free. Within the cold confines of the room, there was not much else to preoccupy the mind. The cold pulled at the body in such a relentless manner that it forced one into slumber.

Blinking his eyes and trying to move every muscle he could, Bleu struggled to create some form of body heat. Falling asleep was not an option for him. He would not die like this.

Suddenly the door opened and he stilled his body. His body shuddered weakly, tired from the cold and the weird movements. He looked with his eyes to see red slacks, which could have been either Spy. He noted the black shoes were scuffed, and a bit dull from lack of polish. It could not be Maurizio, who was keen to every little detail of his appearance.

A number of questions bubbled up for him to ask, and he turned them each down. Will I die here? What is taking so long? Will you finally start questioning? Is this the end? Where is Maurizio? Is he alright? Is there a chance of getting a bite to eat and a blanket? Each one either sounded desperate or foolish. He was a Spy, so he knew the other Spy would give no empathy to him.

“Seems you have made yourself quite comfortable in here,” the RED noted, strolling around to where Bleu could see him.

He bit his tongue, refusing to respond. If he were younger and more foolish, he would have retorted with something about how he had been left in a meat freezer before, and that this was nothing new to him. The torture had to start somewhere. The questioning had to start sometime. He was not about to instigate the harshness of it though.

The RED crouched down to his level, their eyes just two feet apart from each other. The glare that came at him was unbearably piercing at his skull. Untold missions, untold stories of the life this Spy had lived, where hiding behind those irises. It was strange to think that back when he was just stealing cars off of lots, this man was being a real Spy.

“Have nothing to say?” the RED pressed, “Your predicament is very wearying.”

The man sighed and rose to full height. He pulled out a cigarette and took a long slow drag of it. That caused the craving to hit hard, and he was sure that the man knew it. He tried his best to sit still and pretend that he was not desperate for a cigarette to warm him up.

The RED bent to his eye level again, blowing a cloud in his face. There was a long pause as he tried not to absorb that smell too deeply, but also tried not to look offended by the smoke. He had to remain calm and collected, watching as those eyes stared at him with such calm persistence.

“You have been part of quite a mess,” the RED stated.

“Oh? Am I supposed to plead in apologies?” the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Why oh why did he have to be so used to letting his youthful rebellion out around Maurizio?

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio and Drake were both startled by the screams they heard. Maurizio shuddered, recognizing the scream from Bleu. It was like a death rattle, crying out as some blade was driven into his body, or some other form of painful torture.

He cringed, wishing he could just shut out the noise. So many years of loving him and nurturing a romance with him had made Maurizio soft towards the BLU Frenchman.

“Are you even a little bothered by this?” Scout asked, suddenly.

Maurizio turned his eyes to the younger man. He had this look about him, like the kind of guy who was trying to play it off in a cool manner. But in reality, he was trembling on the inside, with fear burning in his eyes.

“It’s only natural to be afraid of pain, or even empathize with that of another,” he said, trying to remain distant. He did not want any connection to Bleu anyways, so it was better to seem empathetic towards the man. “In my line of work though, I cannot afford to show mercy by being startled by screams.”

Scout became bothered by this, “What? N-no! That’s not- I mean, I didn’t feel startled or anything. I mean, I wasn’t expect-” He was cut off by another howling scream.

“We’re human,” Maurizio said, “Deep down, we have the same fears.” He pulled out a cigarette, because he needed something to settle his nerves. “But, Spies mustn’t pay the consequences of showing anything towards the enemy. Even one who might be a friend. Do you understand?”

Scout stared at him for a long moment, before he finally nodded. Maurizio nodded in return, a silent agreement that this was just the way things were. He hoped that it also meant they would no longer discuss it.

But, as the silence dragged on, more questions were dragged out of the Scout. He shifted in his seat as he faced Maurizio squarely, “So all the Spy stuff – the torturing and stuff – that doesn’t bother you? In the least?”

Maurizio glared at him, with irritation. Clearly this boy was not going to understand what it meant, so he might as well drop the subject altogether. “Don’t bother with worrying about it,” he said, gesturing with the hand holding his smoke, “It will only trouble you more.”

They went silent and Maurizio drifted into memories. He thought back to when he was young and amiable. He thought back to when he was a different man, freshly plucked up to be a Spy. He thought about when all he had in his sad little world was Bleu.

 

*********************************************************************

 

It had to have been the time spent waiting. The apprehension had built up too much. Even for a Spy, who was experienced in torture tactics, this had worked on him. Perhaps he was missing some training that the other had. Surely they trained Spies to actually know what to do with their apprehension.

The cigarette burns on the exposed skin just below his eye still stung after the cigarette left. He panted heavily, terrified and in great pain. That had hurt a lot more than he had expected. It had hurt a lot more than was probably even intended for a start to torture.

The RED dropped the spent cigarette on the floor at his feet, “You could start talking.”

He pulled out another cigarette to start smoking. Bleu watched in silence. He would not talk. He could threaten Bleu with death, but it would mean nothing. Being on a Global Respawn link in Austin, Texas, he had no reason to fear death.

The RED suddenly bent to his level again, meeting his eyes, “I am not going to kill you.”

Bleu glared back at them, “Why don’t you just give up?”

The RED shook his head, “No, this will be too much fun.”

The taunt did not hit him as hard as it probably should have. He had grown used to mercenaries wanting to hurt him, even talking about enjoying the activity. He just gave him the same dead pan glare as he gave every other mercenary who wanted to cause him serious injury.

“I had no qualms with you,” he stated. It was am open threat that he now had a reason to want the RED Spy in pain.

“Did Mann Co put you up to this?” the RED went on.

Bleu held his tongue, remaining silent. He would not give in for a moment. He would not give him the satisfaction of winning at the end of a torture session.

“Who was it? The Administrator? Pauling?” he sounded doubtful of that last guess, “Saxton Hale?”

Bleu remained silent, watching the other man coming up with ideas. He was too clever and too smart. He knew the orders Bleu got came from Mann Co. What he wanted to know was where those orders came from specifically, within the company’s allotment of power.

If he knew anything about Bleu’s history with Mann Co, as an employee, he would have easily guessed. Who could have an easier time with guessing? Each of the investors of Mann Co liked to use their own mercenaries after all. It was just a matter of time before he figured it out.

“The longer this draws out,” the RED started towards the door, “the longer you withstand this.”

Bleu watched as the man left. It donned on him that he was being left in the cold again. Just thinking about the cold sent a shiver up his spine and he wished desperately for a cigarette.

He looked at the burnt out cigarette that had been tamped out on his face. He longed to have a big of nicotine, with the warmth of smoke in his lungs. He would wait this out before he begged the man for one though.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio and Scout searched the base for blankets, before they settled near the fire for the night. Maurizio woke a few times to the sound of the other Spy restarting the fire. He did not seem to sleep at all, taking to pacing to keep himself warm. The bags under his eyes spoke leagues of how exhausted he was. Maurizio himself was just too tired to say anything to him about it.

When morning dawned Maurizio was freezing, and apparently he was not the only one. Irritable and shivering, Scout was wrapping himself in a near impossible bundle of blankets. Nearby was a curious scene though, as Bleu had been moved to their campsite, shivering beneath the warmth of a few blankets.

“We need to get out of here,” Maurizio stated, “It is much too cold up here. The heat is not enough, because insulation is crap.”

“While I understand the sentiment, we require a safe space for interrogation,” the other Spy told him firmly.

Maurizio rolled his eyes, “It is pathetically cold up here. We are not going to last if we attempt to camp up in this place.”

“What if we get supplies?” a shivering Scout offered, bundling himself up in the blankets.

“Supplies are not even the highest priority of issues we have, Scout,” Maurizio told him.

“Radiators…planks to board up the walls for insulation…could work,” the other Spy offered, with a shrug.

“Won’t work,” Bleu suddenly woke. He spoke in a shuddering voice as he shivered in the cold. “The time it would take to fix one room for your purposes would not be worth it. Add it up to attempting a large enough space for four people would be ridiculous. Hilarious maybe.”

Maurizio shot Bleu a glare, “You shut up!”

Bleu glared back at him, “I am helping your case.”

“Shut up, Réne,” Drake interrupted, “Nobody cares what you have to say.”

“You are just going to allow this?” Bleu asked, “Betray your teammate to the enemy Spies?”

Maurizio scoffed with frustration. He was seriously trying to manipulate the Scout into being some sort of team player. What a ridiculous tactic, he thought. Although, he figured it might not be far from working if he did not intervene somehow.

“He’s not the traitor here,” Maurizio told Bleu sternly, “You are!”

“Whatever the case,” the other RED Spy’s tone was so dismissive of the effects of what the BLU Spy had been trying to do, “We still need a safe house.”

Maurizio sighed as he pondered the situation. There were not many places in America that he knew of, let alone places he could go with a captive and get away with it. There were a few _actual_ safe houses he knew of in Mexico, though.

“Is he even tied up?” Drake exclaimed, with disbelief.

“He cannot necessarily run,” the other RED said, a bit smugly.

Bleu shot him a glare. He had not moved from where he was laying under the blanket. Maurizio had thought it was because of the cold, but now he was starting to wonder what the other RED had done to Bleu.

He said nothing as he reached down by Bleu’s legs and pulled the blankets aside. Of course, Bleu still had shoes and socks on to protect his cold sensitive feet. Just a shimmy of the pant leg though, and Maurizio could see the blackened appearance of his otherwise pale skin.

“Holy shit,” Drake breathed.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Maurizio turned to the other RED, letting the leg be. The other RED shot him a warning glare, but he would have nothing of it. “Transporting him is going to be extremely difficult! And what if he dies from this?” Maurizio asked, angrily. He was fighting with emotions at the back of his throat though.

“This _is_ bothersome, Spy,” the Scout added.

“Nobody asked for your feelings on this, boy,” the other RED said, gesturing to Drake, before he turned back to Maurizio, “I did nothing. He remained in the cold. This happens in the cold.” There was so much warning and threat behind those eyes that stared back at him. “If you would like to get answers out of him, be my guest. He has chosen the long route on this one.”

“The long route?” Maurizio looked down at Bleu.

The man was laying there, trying to pretend he was not distressed by any of this. His cold hands were hidden under the pillow he was using, his fingers already blackening from the cold. The blue look of his lips was distressing enough, but those eyes came back at him.

He looked at the other RED, knowing that he had to speed this up. Nobody knew Bleu like he knew him. Nobody knew how to twist the knife in his skin the way Maurizio could. And no man could punch him and make it hurt like Maurizio could. He would make him remember all that they had been through together, and in those moments of memory, he would thrust all of the pain onto him.

“Let me,” he said, pulling off his gloves, “This will go much faster.”

The other man quirked his eyebrow, “You?”

Maurizio nodded, “But, this will not be pretty.” He looked down at Bleu, already planning out what he was going to do and how he would approach this.

The other Spy nodded, “Let’s go, Scout.”

“What? I am not going with you!” Drake protested, taking a step away.

“Drake, take a hike,” Maurizio said sternly, “Go with him, now.”

He saw a flash of fear behind the younger man’s eyes. That fear that he had had when he heard Bleu scream before. Maybe it terrified him that Spies could actually endure the apathetic act of committing torture. Or maybe it was just the idea of the pain the older man was going through, and would go through, because of torture.

The other RED did not give the BLU Scout a chance to protest. He grabbed the young man’s arm and dragged him off through the base. He waited a while, listening for footsteps that might mean they were too close for comfort. He did not want some of these sounds to be heard.

“And what is it that you think you can do that a _trained_ Spy cannot?” Bleu asked, “You’re not a Spy, Maurizio. You’re only pretending. You’re a good actor.”

Maurizio crouched and lowered his face to Bleu’s. He could feel the heat of the other man’s breath against his face. It made him feel the memories flitting through his own mind. He would have rather not thought about them at this moment, but he needed to torture himself with them to torture Bleu.

He came so close that they were nose to nose with each other. Bleu was taken aback a bit, but he quickly recovered. He was strictly going to stick to his Spy act, even with Maurizio.

“Drop the act, Chevalier,” he said, taking Bleu’s wrists, “It won’t work with me.”

Bleu looked confused now, trying to get his wrists away from Maurizio’s grip. With the Italian so close to his face and on top of him, there was really no escape and no leverage to use. He could only trudge up memories to decide what was happening. Maurizio waited for that, for him to use memory to make sense of what was happening. That would create apprehension, which would make this more stressful for him.

“You are not being charming, Tizzone,” Bleu growled in response, “If you think you are, you aren’t. Mystery solved.”

Maurizio drew even closer, their lips grazing, “Do you really think that’s what this is about?” The body beneath him tensed up as he took a taste of Bleu’s blue lips.

 

*********************************************************************

 

The howling scream they heard was different from before. This was not restrained, with no attempts to hold back. The agony was real, along with the strain of pitch as it drew something more agonizing out of the Spy.

Scout shuddered, “Do you…do you know what he’s doing?”

He felt terrified at the idea of torture. Sure, it was efficient, but a man without empathy who was capable of creating such amounts of pain was dangerous. Even Scout had his limits on what he would tolerate.

When he looked at the Spy’s face, he was surprised. There was something startled in his expression, and almost intrigued. That must mean that the screaming from Réne was something different. Maybe Maurizio was better at it than this Spy.

“Spy?” he pressed, hoping to get a response.

He did not understand why he felt so scared. He had spent his life dealing with pain. He was not afraid of pain or people who inflicted pain. He faced off with giant Russians and sneaky backstabbing Spies for a living. There was no reason for him to feel so fazed by that horrible scream.

But it was so horrible. That scream was terrifying and he could not have explained why. It dug deep into his core and dug something primal out of him, something like a child. It took all of his strength not to bolt from the base.

Spy finally turned to him and patted his shoulder. He said nothing as he made his way down the hall. Scout followed with a heavy sigh. He should have given Drake an answer, but the guy was going to be cryptically silent instead.

“Spy!” he barked at the man, as he paced the halls.

Spy turned his head to look at Scout, but he did not say anything. He had no empathy in his eyes, almost like he did not care. Maybe it was exhaustion, which Scout could see very plainly on his face. Spy did not often let his appearance go to that extent.

“Spy, I’m bored!” he exclaimed. It was not a lie, but he did not necessarily want to fill the time with talking to the RED Spy.

“Then find some way to entertain yourself,” the Spy replied, blatantly.

“Shit! It’s cold and I don’t want to be out here!” he exclaimed, trying to drive into the man’s nerves a bit. It was always fun to see him get riled up.

The Spy sighed, with a roll of his eyes, “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“Personally? I think we should just get out of here,” Scout stated,

“Well, that’s a shame, now isn’t it?” Spy asked, a bit tauntingly, “We’ll be up here until we get some answers.”

“What was Réne even doing?” Drake asked, without missing a beat, “What was he even thinking?”

“Those are questions we need the answers to, Scout,” the Spy replied.

“And if he won’t answer?” Scout asked. There was a very real possibility that Réne might just stick it out through the torture and refuse to tell them anything.

Another scream echoed through the halls. This one sounded like a man being sawed into by a Medic. There was nothing like the continuing screams of a man whose bones were slowly being sawed through.

“He’ll answer,” was the Spy’s simple reply.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio pulled on his gloves, trying to keep his hands steady and his mind translucent. He was coming down from a high though and he was forcing himself through it all to keep a calm and apathetic look on his face. He had to look professional when the others got back.

Bleu, on the other hand, was a mess. Sprawled across blankets with his face buried into the pillow he had been shoved into, he quivered with pain. It was not just physical either, as the body had taken enough of a painful beating. It was his mind that had broken, causing his body to tremble as he wept into the cotton he gripped, as if holding onto a life preserver.

He quickly assembled the BLU Spy’s clothing, so the subtlety would not be lost. If the Scout was a bit thick, then all would be well, he would not know the lengths that Maurizio had gone to. He would not know the kind of person he had stooped to.

He peeled his gaze away from Bleu and quickly strode out into the cold hallway to have a smoke. He needed some space. He needed to look away. He needed to not see Bleu in that state.

It was not long before the other RED and the Scout came wandering along. Scout looked fairly irritated and bored in an energetic manner, while the Spy looked bored and irritated in an exhausted manner. The two approached him with the hopes that he had finished with Bleu.

“Scout, go watch the captive,” Maurizio motioned to the door he had closed behind him.

“What? No!” Scout exclaimed.

“Scout, I need you to watch him,” Maurizio pressed.

“What? Afraid he’s gonna crawl away? This douchebag made sure he can’t walk!” Scout threw a thumb at the other RED Spy.

“Drake, I’m telling you,” Maurizio put a hand on the youth’s shoulder, “Please…just go watch Réne.”

Finally, Drake conceded with a nod. He headed into the room, leaving the two Spies alone. He had to tell him all that he had learned, but that was going to be harsh memory to relive.

“Did you get anything from him?” the other Spy asked.

“Plenty,” Maurizio nodded, lighting up another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to tag for this chapter. This story feels great to me. I love it. But it is taking me a while to write, both because of real life and because of other projects coming up.  
> I am currently working on a comic and I am working up to finishing the other fanfics. And, I am two weeks late to the NaNoWriMo party.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you are enjoying this story. Any and all comments are welcome.


	8. The RED in BLU’s Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back when Bleu fell in love with a cute Italian in a RED mask.

Somewhere in Mexico  
December, 1963

“Ah, so you’re here,” Maurizio’s familiar voice caught Bleu’s attention.

He was expecting the usual behavior of staying in the open, but for once, Maurizio was being sneaky in the shadows. The man came out of hiding and shrugged.

“What can I say,” Bleu responded, with a coy smile, “I suppose I’m drawn to curious things.”

“Curious _men_ ,” Maurizio corrected him.

“I suppose,” Bleu shrugged.

“I see you here so often,” Maurizio said, making small talk as usual.

“Well, it _is_ a habit of mine to snoop about,” Bleu admitted.

“Given how you tend to come to me for conversation…” Maurizio got a strange look on his face, looking Bleu up and down.

Bleu froze, his heart pounding in his throat. He was not sure what was on Maurizio’s mind, but that look was dangerous. It almost seemed predatory. He was not sure whether he was meant to feel intimidated or turned on.

“Intriguing, given we’re enemies of the same class,” Maurizio went on, with a nonchalant shrug.

“I find you intriguing,” Bleu said, wishing he could control the heat of his face, “You’re quite the interesting character. According to your files, you have quite the history.” He put on a lewd smirk, hoping the man read it as confident.

Maurizio raised his eyebrows. This was the way conversations went. Bleu used his expert abilities, with what little he had learned of spy work as a thief. Spies were really just thieves and conmen, when it came down to the points. Yet, this seemed to be Maurizio’s strong point. He could read people like open books.

Maurizio suddenly closed the distance between them. He leaned in close, his eyes narrowing. He studied Bleu, like he might study a piece of art. Despite himself, Bleu felt quite intimidated yet special. This was a different move from how Maurizio normally behaved. He usually minded his space when they talked, wary of Bleu’s presence.

Bleu found himself leaning away, uncertain of the closeness of the RED Spy. The man was not exactly trustworthy, being on the opposing team and all. There was a whole set of warning alarms in the back of his mind about this situation.

“You like prying an awful lot into my history,” Maurizio said, leaning towards him as he leaned back, “A whole lot more than any of my teammates, no less. Why is that, I wondered?”

Bleu’s heart was racing. Panic was hitting him. He had to get that under control as quickly as he could. He had to keep his calm and cool exterior, lest the Italian Spy figured it all out.

“I could be wrong,” Maurizio shrugged, backing up a little, “It is possible that I have estimated wrong. But, my theory is pretty solid and I’m not usually wrong about these things.”

“Heh,” he was not sure why he let that sound escape. It felt like a betrayal of his thoughts. “Let’s see how good your theorizing is then, RED,” he spoke in a daring tone.

Maurizio’s tone grew darker and his glare became sharper as he focused on Bleu’s face, “You’re working with the mafia, aren’t you?”

That threw Bleu for a loop. He was utterly confused by the guess and had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “What?” he asked with confusion dripping off of his tone.

“You heard me!” Maurizio suddenly gave him a sharp shove.

Taken off guard, he lost his balance and fell on the ground. The other Spy quickly took advantage of this position, dropping down onto his chest and putting a switchblade to his throat. It was the smoothest fighting Bleu had ever seen the man do, though it probably had the confusion to thank for that.

“You’re helping the mafia!” Maurizio declared, angrily.

They were in Mexico, so the only thing that came to Bleu’s mind were the local spats with the cartel here. “The cartel? I don’t work for them!” Bleu exclaimed, “They cause us trouble!”

“Not the cartel! Fuck the cartel!” Maurizio flung his knife against the ground so hard that when it bounced it broke in three pieces. The two of them just watched the pieces dance and finally fall, mesmerized by what had just happened.

Their gazes met again and there was hardly a sound. All Bleu could hear was breathing and the pounding in his head. Near forty years of smoking had not done well for his lungs, and the man sitting on them was making everything more difficult for breathing.

“I’m not talking about that stupid cartel,” Maurizio reached into his pocket and drew a new knife, “The mafia, you fucking idiot!”

“The American mafia avoids this area because of the cartel,” he argued, “Right?”

“Fuck America! I’m talking about the Italian mafia, you twat!” Maurizio was flinging his arms around wildly and in anger.

Bleu could only watch the show of the man throwing a tantrum on top of him. It was like watching a two year old throw a fit on top of him, if that two year old could grow stubble on his lip.

The more Bleu looked at the stubble on his lip, the more he forgot what they were talking about. He could only stare, watching his mouth move, while wondering if it would be all that bad to try and kiss those lips. That mouth kept on moving, but he was not receptive to words at the moment, watching the shapes that his mouth made when he was speaking, while pinned beneath him.

“BLU!” he smacked him across the face.

At first, it sounded like his name. That left him in such a state of shock that he could not respond. It was that accent, not quite accustomed to English the way a native speaker would be, but not unaccustomed to the use of the words, and certainly nothing similar to French. For a moment, he tried to imagine the man on top of him was more than just a little in control of the situation, but rather that he held all of the control, knowing every detail of his life down to his real name.

“What are you doing?” Maurizio leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at his eyes, “BLU!”

If only just to shock him, he decided to say something, “I’m studying your eyes. They are a nice color.”

Maurizio looked like he had heard the weirdest thing in the world. He flinched, staring at him with disbelief. He waited and watched as the Italian scooted a little down his chest. That was not what he wanted, he wanted the man completely off of him so that he could get off of the floor.

The man threw all of his weight down into his arm, bringing his forearm onto Bleu’s neck in a sudden act of rage. He gagged and hacked at the pain in his throat, wishing he had not pissed him off. He needed to diffuse the RED’s anger, though he knew he was not very good at that. He was not good at making Maurizio happy and contented the way he could do to Bleu.

“You think this is a joke?” Maurizio growled angrily, “You think I am joking?”

“No!” Bleu gagged, “Not at all!”

“You think this is all a joke?” Maurizio growled, angrily.

“No I don’t!” he choked. This was even more difficult than usual.

“Then who are you working for?” Maurizio demanded.

“I only work for Mann Co!” he strained his throat.

Maurizio raised his arm and slammed his fist into Bleu’s face. Fuck that hurt. For a pretty boy, the Italian Spy had quite a swing behind his punches. He was not a pro with hand to hand combat in the way that Bleu had learned, but he seemed rather familiar with getting into dicey fights.

“Liar!” Maurizio raised his voice, “You will tell me, or I will make you _beg_ for death!”

“I am not working for anybody!” Bleu raised his voice.

“Spy around here!” the RED Engineer heard his outcry.

Maurizio turned to look at the doorway behind him, wary of his teammate. He turned back to Bleu and got to his feet. “Saved by the RED team,” Maurizio growled, “Get out of here before I change my mind!”

Bleu was rubbing his throat as he got to his throat. He had not realized how violently Maurizio had handled him. He hurt all over, especially his throat.

He limped off, headed to the BLU base. This was not how he had intended this confrontation to go. In fact, this would complicate their future confrontations. That was disappointing for him.

 

He gave the RED Spy his space for the next few days. He did not want to push his situation. He was not sure how the man might react the next time they talked, and if he was feeling violent, Bleu would let him have time to cool down.

Of course, he interest drove him towards the RED base again. He went wandering around, in the midst of the late hours again, this time staying closer to the shadows. He wanted to catch the RED Spy by surprise, maybe see if he was acting out of sorts again.

He found the man sitting in the open as he usually did. He was standing out there, a cigarette in between his lips, checking a watch on his wrist, opposite the invis watch. He was impatiently tapping his foot, as if he was waiting for somebody. Bleu bit his lip, feeling outraged that there was somebody Maurizio was waiting for.

He waited at first. He thought he could catch the man he was waiting for. Who had Maurizio’s interest enough to get him to wait out for him? But, the longer he waited, the more impatient he grew. He decided to cut in, so that if the person ever did arrive, he would find that Maurizio’s attention was already taken.

He adjusted his sleeves, before he stepped out of hiding. He dropped his cloak, striding out into the open. Upon hearing the footsteps, the RED turned and looked him up and down.

“There you are,” Maurizio flashed him a smile, as if they were friends.

He was taken aback. This was strange. This was not like before, not even before the sudden outburst from the other day. Before, Maurizio did not even smile at him, giving him his usual depressed feeling, that sensation of having given up on life. Sometimes, even giving up on being a Spy.

Based on his research, he already understood why Maurizio gave up on being a Spy. It was easy to see too. He was not trained to be a Spy, though the files that Mann Co had had pegged him differently. He would not share these files with them though, given that Maurizio had nowhere else to go, struggling through the act of being a mercenary.

“I was starting to think I had startled you,” Maurizio chuckled. He put a hand to his mouth and looked at him through his lashes in a playful manner as he giggled.

That hit Bleu hard. All of his suspicions dropped from his mind as his brain started to swirl with thoughts. He stared, dumbfounded, at the man before him. His body temperature rose significantly and he was sure that it was apparent on his face, beneath the mask. What was worse was that he loved it.

“I suppose I should say ‘I am sorry’ for the incident,” Maurizio chortled, trying to suppress his giggling, “But, we _are_ enemies, aren’t we?”

Bleu stared at him, dumbfounded. He was so awestruck, but it was in a good way. His heart was pounding in his ears and he wanted so desperately to open up to the man before him.

“I suppose we are,” his own voice felt foreign, rigid and trained not to convey his own emotions.

Maurizio bit a single nail on his finger. He was eyeing Bleu with such a strange distance from the concept of _enemies_. Rather, it was like they were old friends. One would have thought they were at least acquaintances trying to get to know each other better.

Bleu could not stand it, he could not handle it. This was nothing like the Maurizio he knew from before. This Maurizio was even better. In spite of all the hardships and the depression, he was lively and pleasant and even seemed flirtatious. On a superficial level, he was being playful and silly, but Bleu could dream, could he not?

 

The night had lasted so long. It had been a one-sided conversation. Maurizio had had so much to say, but when Bleu looked back, there was so little he could remember. Had he remembered it wrong? Or was Maurizio using more words to say much less than he thought? It seemed rather strange and contrived, but Bleu had enjoyed it so much.

It did not help that every response he could remember sounded like a robot. All of the emotion had been locked out of his vocal cords. His entire side of the conversation had been limited to very simplified responses that kept the RED Spy talking. And talk he did, gabbing in circles until they both decided it was time to retire.

At least, Bleu was certain he had decided to retire of his own accord. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if perhaps it had been Maurizio’s suggestion and his own acceptance of that suggestion. He had been so caught up in his feelings about this while Maurizio was talking that he could not be sure of anything. He could not even be sure of what came out of his mouth during that time.

But in the dead of night, within the early morning hours, he could only stare at the ceiling. He was wide awake, feeling like a drunkard, unable to think clearly. He could probably blame it on lack of sleep, but all he had on his mind was Maurizio. The way he talked, the way he moved, his playful and flirtatious attitude. He was intrigued by the younger Spy before, but now his heart was fluttering at the thought of him.

He felt ashamed of himself. What was he doing? Falling for the enemy? He had already told himself that this was a foolish thing to do.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he could see Maurizio, smiling and being playful. Only, here in the safety of his room, in his bed, with only his thoughts, Maurizio was also flirting with him. Behind his eyelids, in the safety of his own mind, Maurizio was getting close and returning his feelings in a mutual response.

 

The days that followed felt different. Maurizio seemed different, in so many good ways. He was a more pleasant person, acting happy even when he had a bad day. He seemed to be forcing the smile on many days and many occasions, but maybe it was working for him.

It was working for Bleu. Seeing Maurizio each day, hearing some playful comment about his gun, or how manipulative a Spy he was, it filled him with a determination he had not had since his youth. He started to wake up hoping that the day’s battle would pit him against the enemy Spy, just so they could banter.

One day, the façade dropped. It had been a long month of the façade lasting, and it was not as if Bleu did not know it was fake, but there was a painful sensation of disappointment. He looked at the depressed looking man, nursing his wounded hand, and puffing on a cigarette like it would resurrect a piece of him that was happy before. He looked so weary that Bleu wanted to reach out and hug him.

“Why’d they do it?” Maurizio asked, on the verge of tears.

Bleu blinked at him with surprise. He was not expecting the question, and he did not know what it meant, “Why did who did what?”

Maurizio sighed and dropped his head to stare at his hands in his lap. He had had a rough day, Bleu was sure. Getting the shit beat out of him by the BLU team was no easy job. RED’s loss definitely had an impact on his attitude, as well. Bleu wished he could comfort him somehow, make him feel a little happy again.

“You know,” there was some emphasis in his voice.

Was he supposed to know something? Was he supposed to be in on some piece of information that Maurizio had told him? He was not sure Maurizio had told him something that would hint at the vague statement.

“The mafia?” he pressed.

Bleu frowned, “What…what did they do?”

“You tell me,” Maurizio said firmly.

“I have no ties to Italy,” Bleu told him, “Let alone Italy’s crime lords and mobsters. You would know more than me.”

Maurizio went quiet, turning his attention back to his hands in his lap. That depressed state of mind was so overwhelming that it made Bleu feel sick to his stomach. Maybe if he could just get the man to cheer up, it would be okay. Of course, he had to understand what went wrong that made him so upset.

“Maurizio? What happened?” he spoke with a calm and almost fond voice. It was the most emotion he had allowed to escape into his voice since he went from car thief to spy.

 

Bleu could not remember how long they had been talking. He could not remember all of the things he told the man. He did not tell him much, giving him empty facts and unbreakable fake identities. He gave the man enough of those to confuse him into giving up on searching.

He consoled him, and then when he became better they laughed. When they were finally able to be on equal grounds, it seemed like Maurizio became warm. It was a nice attitude, something that Bleu was hungry for. He wanted more of this side of Maurizio, the man who was warm and vibrant, almost loving. He wanted to keep caring about him, and to let that care blossom. He wanted to let himself express something that would allow Maurizio to feel for him in return.

As they always did, the end of the night sent them their separate ways. Bleu went to his empty and cold room. There was no reason to turn on the lights, what was the point? He almost always covered his face, and here in his privacy, he did not really want to see the hollow pale creature he had become. He wanted to see more of Maurizio instead.

He laid in bed that night thinking about the day. Not so much about the fighting or Maurizio being depressed. He was happy to see such a warmth coming from the RED. He was happy that there was something in Maurizio that could be reached by consolation. He was pleased that there was even more to love about that man than he had hoped for.

He sighed as he thought about the face he had seen in pictures. He longed to see the man for himself. To see and touch his face. He would be happy with just a simple friendship, where he was trusted enough to see his face. He just wanted to be close to that warm and vibrant personality.

In a cold and dark world such as this, he needed a light that was warm. He needed something to reach out for, to hope for. A man needed his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really enjoying these chapters that go back. I hope you like this too.
> 
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask! For all I know, I could have missed something I meant to place in a previous chapter.
> 
> If it has any bearings on the plot, I will compile a Q&A in the notes of the final chapter.


	9. Lost and Separated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BLU Spy causes a car crash and they all get separated. Scout is not as concerned with the RED Spy as the RED Spy is with him.

The car was silent. Nobody wanted to speak, and be the first to break the solitude. It was empty and cold, that silent solitude. But, it seemed sacred in a sense. There were people around them, but they each felt very alone. It bothered Drake to no end.

“Does nobody know how to make a conversation anymore? Or is this just a Spy thing?” Scout joked, hoping to lighten the mood. There had to be something that got them to be livelier.

Maurice turned his head to glance over his shoulder, but then turned his attention back to the road, despite not being the driver. The other RED Spy pulled a cigarette from his mouth, holding it up to the crack in his window. He did not look back at him, but rather just soaked in the words.

“It’s not exactly a talking moment, Scout,” the man spoke with such a poignant pause and a profound tone that it irritated him, “I don’t think either of our colleagues will be ready to talk.”

He glanced over at Réne, only to see him pull away. He looked like he was so put out, like a light that no longer glowed. He just had this look to him, like the world had just spited him out of mental existence.

He seemed empty, not that he was very lively before, but anything that was left of him seemed to have been sapped. Whether it was a will to live, or the very essence of his soul, Drake was not sure. Perhaps torture just did that to a man, all alone, in a cold place.

Looking forward, he could not see Maurice’s face. All he could see was a bit of his shoulder around the seat. The man was not about to look back or show his face in any form, whether that was on purpose or simply because he was staring at the ever-changing view in the windshield was not apparent.

He turned to his window, staring at the constant change of trees and snow that they passed. Their trail took them for miles, which seemed like days. The passage just felt so bleak, the longer that he waited for it to end. And as he waited, he began to doze off into rest.

 

He was woken by a jolt. The car had stopped rather harshly, his head banging against the window. He gently touched his head, pulling away to find no blood, yet it still throbbed like there was a massive injury.

He wondered what had happened, turning his attention to the rest of the car. Réne was strangling the RED Spy, not-Maurice, who struggled in the driver’s seat, trying to break free of the offending rope or tape – Scout could not tell what it was. Maurice himself seemed to have taken a hard hit, unconsciously leaning his head against the window next to him.

That was when he realized that he was the last one remaining. His hands were free and capable of doing things, but in this moment where the REDs were both incapacitated, it was now his decision more than anything. He was not going with the flow, he had to decide. At his feet was his shotgun, but if he used it on any of them, they were gone for good. It could at least scare somebody though, enough to keep himself alive.

But, who did he use it on? If he did not act, the RED Spy in the driver’s seat was dead. Not that he liked the guy, but thinking of being the reason he was permanently dead felt rather cold and irrational. If he raised the gun to Réne’s head, he was staying true to being against Réne, supporting the REDs’ actions.

He raised the muzzle of the gun, trying to decide. His head hurt and that made him feel very dizzy. He looked from one man to the other. He felt out of sorts, like the world was relying on him at the worst time possible.

It was do or die, and the only outcome where he could decide to keep everyone alive was to turn on Réne. He pressed the muzzle to the other BLU’s head. He did not have any words to say, he did not need words for what he meant. Réne knew, he had to know. This was the work of a mercenary.

“You won’t kill me,” Réne said, in a taunting tone, “You want him dead as much as I do. And the world would be better off, non?”

Drake pulled the hammer. The little click it made was enough to make his point clear. There was no better way of doing it. No words could express what a gun to the head could.

“You can’t,” Réne went on, “You wouldn’t! You’re on BLU! We can forget this whole mess and go, once he’s gone.”

Suddenly, Maurice woke and turned his head. His bleary eyes took in the scene with confusion. He studied Réne and Drake with an emotional distance that came with not being fully awake.

“You’re safety is on,” Maurice noted, through a croaking voice.

He looked down at his gun with confusion. Really? He left the safety on? Then he remembered that he had been dozing off. He quickly turned off the safety, his finger poised on the trigger again.

Immediately, Réne released the other Spy. His hands went up and he retreated back into his seat. So that was what this was, he had been betting on Scout missing that his safety was on.

The other Spy gasped and sputtered. He was so breathless, rubbing his neck with panic and desperation. Drake could at least admire that the man was able to hold his breath for so long. He wondered if that was a thing they trained Spies to do back in France.

The other Spy muttered what sounded like curses in French, before turning in his seat, “Thank you, Drake.”

“Yea yea,” Drake glanced at the gun, pointed keenly at the other BLU, “Don’t get used to it.”

As he finally started to think about it, he finally started to realize what he had been playing with. He remembered back at the hospital, how Réne had attempted to take a woman’s life. She had been harmless and even kind. Even thinking about siding with him made him feel disgusted and ashamed.

The Spy tried to start the car, but it would not turn over. Muttering more curses, Spy beat on his steering wheel. Apparently he seemed to think that would help him start it up.

“Calm down,” Maurice muttered, “Let’s check under the hood and make sure the radiator’s intact.”

He moved slowly as he got out of the car. The other Spy was quicker, moving right over to the hood as it opened. Maurice slowly slipped from his seat, as if he had to think carefully about every minute action before it was made. He paused before closing the door.

“Scout, keep your eyes on _him_ ,” he warned, pointing at Réne.

“G-got it,” Drake nodded, turning his attention back to the BLU Spy.

The man had already retreated again. Recluse in his mind, the man looked empty. Perhaps he was hurting. Perhaps he had given up on life. Drake was not really sure which was the best option to guess at.

He glanced out the windshield to see the two Spies arguing. Maurice looked tired, bending over once in a while to reach into the engine. The other Spy was shouting and even kicked a tire, completely fed up with the broken down vehicle.

“Don’t be so trusting,” Réne suddenly spoke up.

Drake straightened, turning his full attention back to the captive Spy. His binds were very loose now, from the struggle. Drake decided that this was a bad thing. He did not remember anybody putting tape on the Spy, but he would be damned if he let the guy get away with some shit like that again. He reached into the center console and pulled out a roll of duct tape, glad to see that it was in the first place he would look.

“Maurizio isn’t what he seems,” Réne’s voice was low and growly, with a warning tone. He meant what he said, but Drake was not listening.

He fiddled with the tape, trying his best to get the end started. It was hard to keep a gun at attention, and undo duct tape with one hand. He needed to use his teeth just to get the end unstuck.

“His greatest asset as a Spy has always been his charm,” the man said, with a fond tone, changing from warning to reminiscent of better times, “He knows people. Well, he gets to know people. He finds out what makes you tick. And he uses _that_ to his advantage. He isn’t as good at finding out secrets like your name and who your lover is. He finds out who you’re fawning for, what you like, what your greatest fears are, and what makes you like a person most.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, stretching out the tape to wrap around Réne’s wrists, “You did a…you turned your back on us. We were protecting her. You turned on us. We don’t forgive traitors so easily back home, pally.”

The duct tape touched Réne’s wrists, just as the reacted. The hands went up, surprising him with their sudden speed. With a swift motion, he wrapped the loosening duct tape around the Scout’s neck, then snatched the duct tape to put a piece over his mouth. In his desperation, Drake reached for the duct tape, wanting to free himself before he got all tied up. He was too caught up in his panic to notice that he dropped the gun, and now Réne had it in hand.

He pressed the barrel against his forehead. His heart was pounding in his ears. He could not believe what was happening. He was so far away from respawn that there was no chance of surviving a shot to the head, especially from his own gun.

“Nothing personal…Scout,” he said, poignantly, “Stay quiet. I don’t _want_ to _hurt_ you.”

He took Scout by the arm, pulling him out of the car. The RED Spies came around in a panic when they saw the two climbing out. They both raised their pistols when they saw that Réne had the gun and Drake was all silenced.

“Drop your weapons into the snow,” Réne demanded, sternly.

They hesitated, unsure of how to make this situation better. “Let the boy go, he’s not done anything to be a part in this,” Maurice insisted, gesturing with his pistol. He kept it pointed at the Spy though.

“It doesn’t concern you that he could die?” Réne asked, “Either of you try anything and I will shoot him. Your hand-to-hand combat is better than your aim.” That last line was pointed at the other Spy, before he turned to Maurice. “With that bang on your head, you’re more likely to shoot the car than me.”

Drake winced when he saw the hue of RED on the Spy’s mask. Maurice’s red balaclava was turning a different hue of red, a blood hue. He did not look very good either, his eyes wanting to close and his body swaying.

“You just might shoot the boy,” he pulled Drake in front of him, as if in emphasis.

“You’re going to use me as a human shield?!” he exclaimed behind the duct tape. Of course, his mouth was duct taped closed, so they did not hear him clearly.

“Your options are-” he did not get to finish his sentence before the other Spy dropped his pistol. He seemed so resigned about it, so regretful, but he did not move to pick it back up. Réne looked to Maurice, “Your weapon?”

“At this point?” Maurice struggled to hold onto his balance, “Not on your life.”

“But, you’re playing with _his_ ,” Réne tapped the side of Scout’s head with the gun.

“Put the gun down,” the other RED turned to Maurice.

“I am a sharp shooter, Bleu,” Maurice growled, “Don’t make me take you by the head.”

“Maurice no!” the other Spy stepped towards him.

“There’s enough of you being taller than him to graze you and miss the Scout,” Maurice taunted further, his thumb pulling back the hammer.

“Drop the gun!” the other Spy leaped at him, grabbing his hands. He wrenched the gun out of the way, just as it let off a shot. The bullet went to the snow instead. A wave of relief hit Scout as he realized what had missed him.

He felt himself freeze, as he watched the Spies struggle. He felt so confused, a little scared, and a little like he might have pissed his pants without knowing it. He looked on at the scene, until Maurice was sent stumbling until he fell into the snow and the other Spy turned to toss the pistol aside.

“There! Guns are down,” he growled, “Let the boy go.” He had this strong sense of self in his demanding voice.

“Really bad decision,” Réne lifted the gun, aiming for the other Spy.

He did not know why. Maybe it was because of that feeling you get when you work as a team. It does not matter if you are from the same place, or even the same country, you become like something of a family when you work as a team. It was his experience with his own team, and perhaps it was the reason he threw his weight back, thrusting against Réne and throwing him off balance.

The shot went off. It felt hot and stung like a harsh nettle. It was rough on Scout’s ears, now realizing how loud it had been in relation to their mostly quiet surroundings.

The Spy shoved him aside and struggled to his feet. Drake was left in the cold icy snow, trying to make sense of what just happened. He watched as Réne stumbled across the snow and fell beside the fallen form of the Italian Spy. He was not about to weep though, instead pulling the body off of the ground.

How was he even lifting Maurice? Drake wondered on that bit. It was curious, considering the man should have been in a great deal of pain, pain that should be preventing him from walking. Adding the weight of the other man would just increase his pain. That begged the question of whether he was ever truly injured or if something else had come into play.

Drake was pulled from his contemplation as a hand lifted him off the ground. It had him by the back of his shirt, and was quickly joined by a hand that scooped him by the chest. He was lifted away from the cold and into the icy air, until he collided with a warm body. He clasped to it, feeling like it was the only surviving sense of survival he could have, as his own body heat would soon be sapped from him by the dense weather.

When he came to his senses, he found that he had been carried back to the car and was seated in the back. A blanket was being wrapped around him. Nearby a familiar voice was talking to him, but he was not listening. He continued to hear the voice, but he did not tune into it, letting it fill the air with sound as he tried to rationalize what had happened.

The Spy’s face came into his vision and he blinked at him. The first thought that came to mind came from his mouth, “Where’s Maurice?”

The Spy sighed, “He’s been taken hostage by your colleague.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say.

“You’re lucky,” a cold hand touched his head.

He winced with a hiss, pulling away from the ice cold hand, “Ow! Don’t touch!”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” the Spy said, before pulling his glove back on, “You were really lucky. The shot missed you, but he was holding it one handed and the kickback smacked you in the head.”

“Thank God, right?” Drake chuckled.

The Spy sighed again, “We need to get going. We’re miles from anywhere and the sun won’t save us from the cold forever.”

“Wait! What? You mean walk?!” Scout jumped from the car seat, “What about the car?”

He turned the vehicle, seeing the front for the first time. It was partially covered in snow, hiding its fender and a good part of the undercarriage where the wheels would connect by an axle. It was angled downwards, as if it had driven right into a pit of some sort.

“Maurizio’s knowledge of cars probably could have saved us,” he sighed, “But I’m afraid that we’re shit out of luck this time.”

“Ah crap,” Drake wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, shivering against the cold.

“Let’s get going,” Spy started towards a downwards slope, “Don’t want to get stuck up here on these mountains for the night. Not without so much as shelter.”

Drake paused, looking around. Maurice was gone. Réne was gone. He was just stuck out there with that other RED Spy.

“What about Maurice?” he asked, “Réne’s injury can’t make him that fast. Are we just gonna leave them out here?”

“We don’t have much choice,” the Spy said, dismissively, “If we try to find them, we’ll likely get lost and die.”

“It’s not us or him!” Drake argued, “We’re faster than Réne is, right now! We can find them!”

“That is not the point right now, Drake!” the Spy raised his voice with frustration, “The point is that we get someplace safer!”

“No!” Drake exclaimed. He wanted to find Maurice and help him. “You go!” he spat, flinging a hand to gesture dismissively at the Spy, “You go! Selfish prick! I don’t need you! I’ll find them on my own.” He turned, heading in the direction that their foosteps seemed to lead.

“Scout, no!” Spy chased after him.

“You can’t stop me!” he picked up his feet and started running.

He heard Spy call after him, he even heard the man running after him. He was faster though. He was much much faster than the Spy. He kept on running until he could no longer hear the Spy calling for him. That did not mean he had stopped chasing him, and perhaps he just stopped calling for him. The man was not known to be a good runner anyways. He probably had a shit ton of breathing problems from all the smoking he did.

Drake kept running. His feet led him to a point where the snow gave off to a drop off. There were no more footprints, but he had to assume that this was where they would lead. He had to assume that this was where the two Spies had gone. There was no better assumption anyways.

The cold was bitter, biting at him like a ravenous dog. Not like the mad dogs back in Boston. It was hungry, chewing at him like he was the last chance for a morsel. He would not be beaten, continuing upon his path like he had nothing else to live for but to run. He had to keep running, lest death caught up with him in the form of the icy chill.

The fingers were biting into his clothes though. He could feel it against his skin. It was starting to blur his vision too. Everything felt like it was spinning. The world was spinning out of control and all he had was running. That was all he had to do was to run, run like the wind and do not ever look back. Run until it hurt him to run, run until he was safe again.

He wondered where he heard that before. He was sure he had heard it somewhere. It could not have been some passing comment though, as he thought back, somebody told him to run like the wind and not to look back. Somebody said it, he just could not remember right now.

Not that it mattered. The past was the past, and Drake of today was a Scout on the run through the wintry scene of the mountains. He had a mission he was on, to run and run as fast as he could.

What was he running from again? What was he running toward? He could not remember. He had to focus to keep himself from running into the trees, bounding around them with quick steps.

He always was an athletic kid. There were few who could keep up with him. Spy could not keep up with him, which was why Spy was not here.

But, if Drake thought back, that was not always the case. If he looked back to warmer days, there was a time in which Spy was not only able to keep up but could surpass him. Spy used to be able to keep pace with Drake, to keep in step with him and move faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I closed my eyes writing this chapter and I felt like I was running through the wintry cold.


	10. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout remembers what it was like to have ma's boyfriend around. He remembers some important advice too.

Boston, Massachusetts  
December, 1937

Drake sat on the steps, bundled up against the cold. He did not want to go inside. He did, but he did not. He could not go inside and face his brothers after today’s skirmish.

He heard the door open. His mother was speaking from across the living room, “Make him come inside!”

It was the boyfriend’s voice that was at the door, “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll go talk to him.”

With that the door closed. Drake did not look over his shoulder. He did not want to look at the man who had moved in about ten months ago to be with his mom.

“Hello Drake,” the man said, as he took careful steps to sit down next to him.

He turned away, not wanting to see the man’s face. It should not be difficult for a man to figure out when a boy does not want to talk to him. He figured if he just ignored him, he would eventually go away.

“I heard…there was an incident after school today,” the man said, interrupting his peaceful quiet.

“You heard nothing!” he barked, before reminding himself not to talk to him.

“Are you okay after that?” the man asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Drake spat.

“Your mother doesn’t want you out here all night,” he said, looking up at the stars.

Drake peeked at him curiously. He had this thoughtful look as he gazed at the stars. There was a small smile too. It was like he was thinking about something else, or somebody else.

“You could get sick,” the man turned to look at him.

He quickly looked away, “I’ll sit out here if I want to!”

The man was quiet for a minute, contemplating. Drake was braced though, ready for a smack. As it was with this man, it never came. It was surprising, but relieving considering he could continue to fight back at will. The man was none too smart, he figured.

“You ever look up at the stars and wonder what they mean?” the man suddenly asked, his thick European accent taking Drake by surprise.

“No,” he admitted, looking up at the lights beyond the street lamps. There were not so many up there as he had been told in school.

“Up there, there are billions of stars,” the man explained, “Billions of stars that just sit up there and watch us live out our lives. Do you think they’re looking back down at us right now?”

“They’re stars,” Drake argued, feeling confused. Science class had made sure he had no dispositions of thinking that stars were angels or dead children or anything like that. Which was much to his mother’s chagrin.

“It’s not the presence of life that gives them meaning, boy,” he argued.

“Then what is it?” Drake grew irritated with him. So typical of a grown up to talk down to him.

“It’s the billions of lives they _represent_ ,” he explained further, “The people we’ve met. The people we share time with. The people we’re with. The people we miss.” There was a heavy sigh, but Drake kept his eyes off of him.

“You know I’m only trying my best, don’t you?” he asked. Drake did not look at him, keeping his eyes on the sky beyond the lamp. “I want to be a good parent, I just never had the practice for it.” Drake still did not look at him, refusing to acknowledge his words. “I just wish I could-” Drake grew bored and got up from the stairs. He trotted up the steps and hurried inside, where his mother was already setting the dinner table.

 

New York, New York  
April, 1938

“Drake! Drake! Can you believe it? Can you believe it, Drake?” his excitable friend Tanner bounced in the seat next to him, “We’re going to the big city! And we’re gonna play a big leagues game, Drake!”

“Yea, I know,” Drake sighed, leaning his head against his fist and his elbow against the door, “I petitioned for this game.”

Of course, very few knew of this little game, it would slide under the noses of so many. But, for a bunch of boys from the downtown side of Boston, there was nothing bigger. They were going to the big apple to play against a team in the upscale joint. It was a private school that not only accepted their request to play but offered a scholarship to pay for the kids’ travels.

Drake could not believe it. They were going to New York. They were gonna play the biggest game of their lives. They were going to change everything in their lives with this game. And after they were finished showing those nosey New Yorkers what their A game was, they would bring home the victory.

The icing on the cake was that his mom was driving some of them. She had the car all spiffed up and prepared, with some spiffy paint to show their team pride. She even brought some of the other boys along, though they were scattered in the other cars, since they tended to be rowdy and loud when they were clumped together.

The only thing that could bring this day down was _that guy_ , ma’s boyfriend. He would not be trouble for now, given he was driving his own car. But, he was driving some of his friends, and probably telling them stories about Paris and trying to impress them with his European-ness.

 

Reaching the stadium was the easy part. Even dealing with the rough procedures the private school had of letting kids into its ball park was easy. The hard part was winning the game.

Previously hooting and hollering about how New York preppy kids with silver spoons in their mouths could not beat the Boston Badgers, his team had deflated. Drake himself came up to bat and found himself at a loss of what he was going to do. The game might as well have been relying on him.

Like the few parents who came with them in their cars, and the rich parents across the field, his mom and brothers were screaming for him to kick their asses. He turned to wave and smile at them, to show that he was cheered up by their support. He lost his smile when he saw _him_ coming down the stands.

“Ah crap,” he muttered, starting towards the home plate.

“Drake! Drake wait!” the man’s voice came closer.

With a disgusted sigh, he turned as the man approached. He bent over, laying a hand on his shoulder. He had a look on his face like he was going to lay some life advice on him.

“I get that you’re trying, but stop,” he cut the man off, “Baseball’s kind of an American thing.”

“And information is a uh… _my_ thing,” the man responded, a genuinely devious smile crawling across his face, “The boy at second.” Drake turned his head to look. “No, don’t look! Just look at me.” Drake did as he was told, sighing as he looked the man in the face. “He’s the weakest at catching the ball, but he has a fast sprint,” he explained, “You’re faster. The fastest of your team and your brothers. Hit it straight to him.”

“And then what? Huh?” he raised his arms, a little exasperated at what seemed like stupid advice.

“My suggestion?” the man straightened to a formal appearance, “Run.”

He patted Drake’s shoulder before he returned to the stadium. Drake almost forgot what he was doing, staring off after the man. Surely he did not think that pitching the ball straight into the second man’s glove was the way to go.

He took a breath and took his place by the referee. It was some fat guy the school had hired to work for the off day. Did not seem like there were many staff here at the campus, aside from security and those working at the ball game, so it seemed the man had been paid to come here on his free day.

He took another breath, as he prepped the bat in his hands. The wraps on his hands were tight and had been rubbed a lot from practice. They felt like they could tear through and let splinters into his skin. He did not have time to worry about that though, turning his attention to the pitcher.

The guy was bent over, reading some signals from the umpire. He had this weird posture, like he was trying to copy the pros without reason. He tried to pay it no mind though, as he gave his bat a practice swing. He got into position, ready to hit the ball.

This was the easy part, he thought. All he had to do was hit the ball. When the pitcher rose, picking his knee up high and turning to fling the ball, his thoughts changed. The man’s advice came to him and he began to panic. If he followed his advice, things could go wrong. If he did not, then he was just hitting it randomly. Ma always said it was best to have a plan before the battle.

He shifted his feet and let the bat guide the ball towards second base. Before it was far from his bat, he let it go and took off. He pushed on the dirt beneath him, sprinting forth, as fast as his feet could carry him. He felt the ground pounding beneath his feet like drums, as he followed the white line to the first base and made a quick turn. His eyes came upon the kid on second, fumbling with the ball. He almost had it, and he could very well catch Drake if he did not hurry and reach the base.

Why was it that when he was nearly to safety, all he could hear was the man’s single word of advice? Run.

He ran, rushing the next base and tearing up the pretty white chalk line. He ran as his heart pounded through his body, sending adrenaline and a feeling of numb freedom throughout his body. A sensation of bliss hit him as he came to the final stretch. The ball was falling, in the downward arch of a throw from one of the basemen. The umpire held his glove out, ready to accept the ball coming his way. His only option was to go under, so he dropped and let the momentum take him.

His breath and heartbeat filled his ears, so that he almost did not hear the referee shout, “SAFE!”

He trotted off to his team, tired and at a loss for breath. They cheered him, clapping his back and giving him a warm welcome back to the dugout. It was the best feeling, as if he had won them the game.

 

They lost the game. Nothing could have brought them back from the losing streak they had been on. But, Drake felt good knowing he made one of their best hits. All of his friends kept telling him that he was lucky the guy fumbled for so long, but he could not help but wonder how much his ma’s boyfriend knew to deduce that this would happen.

He was in the back seat of his car with Paul and Calvin, when they dropped off the last of his friends. He paused and turned to the three of them, “Anybody wanna hop in front?”

They were all silent for a moment. None of them connected him like Ma or Benjamin did. They just kind of sat there, not interested in being next to him, where he could easily talk to them.

“No?” he asked, with disappointment.

Finally, Drake got out of the car and switched to the front seat. Before he climbed in, he reminded himself that he was doing this to figure out how he did it. It was for nothing else, purely to find out this fact.

The man looked a little too please that he had joined him though. He started up the car again and they started off. There was a pleased smile plastered on his face.

“How about ice cream?” he offered.

“Why?” Calvin asked, snidely, “It’s not like the team won.”

“Still,” the man shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt to enjoy a little, could it?”

“I suppose not,” Drake said, hoping to get on his good side. He could feel his brothers’ mirth on the back of his head, but he ignored them.

After they picked up some ice cream, Drake decided to ask the question that was on his mind, “That kid on second. You knew he was going to fumble. How?”

The man in the driver’s seat chuckled a bit. He had a touch of smugness to him. Maybe too much for a single question.

“That’s simple,” he said, almost as if instructing him, “I was paying attention to the players on both teams. I assessed the second baseman was a fast runner but he fumbles. Of course he would falter.”

“That doesn’t make sense! Who would put a fumbler at second?” Drake scoffed.

“He’s a fast runner,” the man explained, “They were using him to cover the areas the slower players could not. They had slower catchers out in the field, so he had a lot of ground to cover. Fumbling would be trivial compared to how much time he saved by getting quickly to the ball.”

“That’s just bad planning,” Drake scoffed, dismissively.

 

Boston, Massachusetts  
May 1938

He was just sitting at the kitchen table, when Drake walked in. Most everybody else was out for the day, enjoying the day as it was. Meanwhile, this guy was pouring over a bunch of papers, mostly taxes, like his life depended on it. His mother had gone out, taking Benjamin with her, so he was alone.

“Hey uh…why don’t you take a break?” Drake offered.

“I have to finish with your mother’s purchases from nineteen thirty three,” the man replied.

Drake approached the table to read over his shoulder. He looked like he had a headache, pouring over a big book labeled Internal Revenue Service on the top of nearly every page. It laid on top of tons of scattered papers, scraps of things his mother had purchased and done over the years. Nearby was a smaller book, a dictionary that read _“French to English”_ on the cover. He started chuckling, when he realized that this was probably made way harder for him because it was not his native language.

“You’re doing a tough job,” he said, hoping to make him feel good about his work.

The man paused to offer him a half-hearted smile. There was so much exhaustion on his face, as if he had run for miles. He looked so drained, so beat down, that it kind of hurt to look at him.

Scratching the back of his head and shrugging, he offered up an idea, “You could still take a break, you know. A little one. Ice cream cart is coming around the corner in about ten minutes. Does so every day. Bet you would feel better from fifteen minutes of not trying to translate a bunch of legal hooey.”

“The kindness is noted, Drake,” he said, with that same half-hearted smile, “But I must finish.”

He let out an indignant chuff, “But, you can’t just pour your whole life on papers!”

“Well, that’s all our lives are to an American establishment like this, papers,” the man replied, as he turned back to the page he had been reading.

Drake huffed and ran out the front door. He hated when adults acted like they were better off doing adult things. He knew the guy liked ice cream, it was not like he thought he was above it.

Everyday became like this. The guy just poured his time into those papers, and Drake was left to huff and run outside. He could not go get ice cream every day. A kid did not have that much pocket change. In fact, he did not use his pocket change, waiting every day for the chance that maybe he would decide that it was best to get away from the papers.

One such day, he started to ponder whether he should just get some ice cream or not. He was slowly accumulating more pocket change anyways. It was just a matter of time before he collected enough pocket change that the whole family could have an ice cream on him.

Why not? He figured he would have himself a bite of ice cream. He started towards the ice cream truck that stopped, but then halted. There were four bigger teenagers going to the truck’s window. They would not be such a bother if not for their rivalry with his brothers. They were always out to pick a fight, and if not for his brothers, he would probably get stomped by them.

Hoping they might not recognize him, he headed for the truck. He kept his eyes on the ice cream man, ready with the words for his order. He was about to speak when a hand shook his shoulder.

“Hey D! Good to see you!” another clapped his other shoulder.

“Nice to see you, D!” said another.

He looked at them, both confused and panicked. He balled up his fists, ready for the fight. His brothers were not there with him, but he could take them, he was sure.

“Have you met Travis?” one asked, leaning his arm on Drake’s shoulders, “He’s my bro. Well, we hadn’t seen him in a while cause he was in the big house! You know what kinda people go to the big house, right?”

He looked over at Travis nervously. The guy looked like an older teen, but to have gone to the slammer, he had to be an adult. He had to be at least eighteen years old.

“So, we don’t really have the money for one more person in our group,” the guy kept leaning on him, “So, I was wondering if you could fork up some change to get my brother an ice cream!”

He wriggled out from under the boy’s arm, “No. I came here to get myself some ice cream.”

“Oh come on! Help a brother out!” the others echoed his sentiments.

“I heard this guy went all the way to New York to play a ball game!” one of his friends jeered.

“No!” he spat, just before an arm caught his shoulders and pulled him away from the truck. The ice cream man was distracted by the kids that were beckoning for his attention.

“Listen, D,” the kept pulling him along towards one of the alleys, “We can do this one way or another. Take your pick.”

“It’s _my_ money! I’ll do what I want with it!” Drake spat.

“Yea, or you could invest in not having a fist in your teeth,” the first teen said, raising his knuckles, “What’s it gonna be?”

Drake resisted as hard as he could. His fist was ready to strike, “I’m not giving you my money!”

“Come on, Drake,” one of them said. He could see them surrounding him, including the older brother Travis.

They were almost completely surrounding him, all escapes cut off. He probably could have darted through their legs. He was decently smaller than these guys, so it would not be hard to start running from them. He never backed down from a fight though. Running from a fight was the worst idea he knew of.

“Your brothers aren’t here to body guard the baby brother,” another taunted.

“I don’t need body guarding!” Drake cried out, as he let his fist do the talking. The converged on him, a bunch of hands smacking and balling into fists. It hurt, like a wave of pain that would never stop.

The worst part of it was that he lost his balance. His face smacked the pavement and he tasted the coppery blood from his teeth. It already hurt, but they had to keep at it by stomping on him too. At least they were not wearing cleats.

To add insult to injury, the leader started digging through his clothes, haphazardly searching for the money. Suddenly, they stopped and ran. He was not sure why, but when he looked around, he was alone. They came and went so quickly that he could not believe what had happened.

He pulled himself off the ground and wiped a bit of blood from his lip. He was a fighter, a mad dog like his brothers. He could take on anybody he wanted. He would take them down and get his money back.

With the thoughts burning fire in his mind, he took off like a shot. He rounded a corner, just in time to see one of them turn another corner. He hurried after them, not wanting to lose the trail. He would not let them get away with what they did, brothers or no brothers behind him.

He rounded the last corner to find two of them fighting off a taller man. One of them was fallen, hugging his knee to his chest. Travis was turned away for a moment, pulling out a big knife before turning on the man.

Drake sprinted forward, crying out to the guy before the knife could come down. He was going to push Travis out of the way, hope that the knife would miss and everything would be okay. He would be a hero of sorts, but the really important part was to have somebody there to help him get his money back from these assholes.

He did not reach Travis in time. In fact, the man turned around so fast that Travis’ head whipped backwards. Surprised, Travis did not have a chance to even see what was happening. Drake had to stop, as he watched the man twist his arm to remove the knife and then bring him sprawling to the ground on his back like he weighed nothing.

Drake blinked up at him, feeling dazed. As he turned to him, finally at an angle where the sun was not glaring in his eyes, he saw the tired half-hearted smile that had been pouring over paperwork for hours. He did not know what to think or what to say, he just guffawed and stared with his mouth hanging open.

You shouldn’t get into fights with bigger kids like this,” he said, “Especially not when you are alone. You could have gotten hurt.”

Part of him wanted to ask how he did that, but what came out was, “How’d you know what was happening?”

“I heard you kids making noise,” he said, “I followed you.”

The leader of the group took off, and that was when Drake remembered his money. He took off after him, surpassing his lackeys without a second thought. On his feet, he felt like the wind was carrying him. Nothing could stop him from getting his money back, not when his current speed would take him right to the leader, fast enough to knock him to the ground.

A bigger figure whipped past him. He flinched to the side, fumbling a few steps. He thought it was Travis, and he was not about to pick a fight with the guy with a knife. He stumbled to a halt as he watched his ma’s boyfriend speed off ahead of him to grab the thief. He wrenched him around and took the money out of his pockets. He flung him one last time and shouted something at him in French.

The man strolled towards him, taking careful breaths to calm his lungs. He met Drake and handed him the cash he had retrieved from the thief’s pockets. He still had that sunken half-hearted smile on his face.

“I am guessing he stole _this_ from you?” he asked.

Drake wanted to say something about how amazing it was that he just sort of put those boys in their places and then took the money back. He wanted to say that, but what came out of his mouth was, “That was weird.”

“Weird?” the man looked stumped at the word.

“Yea,” he stuffed the money into his pocket, quickly searching for a way to dig himself out of this weird situation his mouth had gotten himself into, “You were shouting at them in French and stuff.”

“Oh,” the man ran a hand over his scalp, pushing back the dark brown and gray streaked hair.

There was a long silence between them. It was a long, drawn out and awkward silence. It felt so strange that Drake considered just running away to be an option. But, all things considered, it seemed like the man could outrun him anyways.

“When you have your back against a wall, or you’re up against too many opponents,” the man suddenly started saying, “You don’t turn and fight. You just run.”

“I’m not a coward,” Drake argued, proudly wiping some fresh blood from his lip with his tongue, “I can fight just like the rest!”

“But you’re not with the rest,” he said, “You don’t have your allies with you. And they could have killed you. Considering one was arm, it was not an unlikely deduction.”

There was another silence. Drake stood there, feeling conflicted at the advice. It seemed like pretty sound advice, but he was too proud to take it. He could not be seen like a coward by his peers, especially not by his brothers.

“The question is not whether you fight or not. Fear is an obstacle you overcome while doing either option,” the man explained, nonchalantly, “But when you are faced with greater numbers of opponents, think of your strengths. Had they run first to catch you, I hardly doubt they could have thought about the knife, let alone kicked you to the ground. You’re a tough boy.”

Drake smiled at that, feeling proud. It felt nice to be acknowledged for once. It felt nice that somebody recognized his greatness in his life. It was nice to not feel so small and helpless, even if he had to be rescued by his ma’s boyfriend.

“Come on,” fingers played into his hair as the man guided him back towards their house, “I think there is some ice cream at the store down the street. My treat.”

 

Two days later, Drake overheard some noise. He was tired, too tired to make out what was going on. He heard his mom being upset, and he heard her boyfriend’s voice. It was too late to be thinking about it, so he ignored the sound of the front door.

That man had disappeared, leaving his ma a crying mess. Work had been the excuse laid on her ma for him leaving. Drake was not even given a reason for being left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hgnn.  
> I just imagine Antoine as the most wants-to-be-a-daddy kind of guy you could know. Part of me also wants to bring up some of the hinted elements about Scout's ma, but I should leave that for the subtlety, and the asks for the end of the story.  
> If you have a question, feel free to comment below! I would love to hear what you think. And if you are unsure about something, I would love to answer it! If it partains to the plot or something not yet revealed in the story, then I will make it a part of the Q&A at the end notes at the end of this story.


	11. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the thick of a blizzard, death awakens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death ahead.

Antoine hurried, never letting the pain get to him. He ignored his lungs, the sudden pain in his leg that matched the ache in his side, as well as the blinding cold in his eyes. He rushed as fast as he could after Scout, not leaving a moment of hesitation to put distance between them.

Try as he might, he knew that boy was dead. He knew he would get himself into some form of trouble. As the blizzard picked up, their vision became worse. They were all doomed to die out here.

Antoine pushed away the thoughts. It did not matter how high the chances of injury were by running. It did not matter how low their chances of escape from these cold mountains got the longer they were here. He had to find the Scout before it was too late, before he died, before the end.

He pushed back all of the worry and fretting that his mind did on instinct, thinking on the best plan of action. Plans did not matter anymore. Action did not matter anymore. All that mattered was getting to Drake.

In the distance, he heard yelling. He ran towards it, letting the tears bite his eyes. He fought to keep running, to keep breathing, to keep moving _towards_ the sounds. He had to reach his boy before it was too late.

Tears bit his eyes as he tried to fight back the thoughts. The fears were making him worse at this. Fear was rendering him incapable of reaching the Scout. He closed his eyes and bit them back as he charged forward.

“Drake!” he called out, trying desperately for a sign. There had to be some sign of the younger man, in hopes of bringing him straight to him.

Let him not be injured, he thought. More tears swelled up and a lump formed in his throat as panic started to settle in. The boy could have gotten himself killed in this weather. Rushing off so blindly, there were few chances of actually recovering him safely.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio came out of what felt like a coma as he fell. He grunted as he face planted into snow, a plush cold pillow that embraced him with the promise of death. How very quaint, he thought. He forced himself to move, trying to gather his wits and keep himself out of the cold. The world was spinning though and the pain in his head only made things worse.

“Maurice!” the familiar French voice called out to him, rushing towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” he stumbled away from the man, feeling dazed as the world became obscure.

“Maurizio, you always were a fool,” the other man said, grabbing his arm.

Maurizio looked down at his damaged legs and began kicking them. The man screamed with pain, dropping to his knees to take the kicks to his torso. It felt good to kick something, it felt good to kick _him_ of all things.

When the other man finally stopped moving, he started trudging through the snow. He did not really know where he was going. He was just moving in a direction. The snow around them was nearly blinding though, making his already dizzy predicament much more dangerous.

He could not even be sure about where he was going. He wanted to figure out which direction he should be headed in, but it all seemed pointless. His mind could not make heads or tails of any direction he looked.

“Maurizio!” the Frenchman tried to claw his way to his feet, desperate to get the RED Spy back, “Please!”

“I…I’ve had enough of you!” he called back, without really looking at him.

“I…please don’t leave me here to die,” the man pleaded.

He finally turned to look at him. He felt himself sway uneasily beneath the pain and loopiness in his head. He looked back to find that Bleu was no better off. He knelt in the snow, looking desperate as he crawled through the white ice. He looked so pathetic, like an animal that had crawled out of its hole to beg for mercy.

“I cannot be bothered with you anymore,” he wavered unsteadily, as the cold whipped against his clothes. Death was probably around the corner, but he would walk away from this fight proudly.

“Maurizio, please!” Bleu begged, “Please! Come back!”

“And what?” he kept walking forward, “Let you control me again? Let you be the one holding the gun again?”

“I would never hurt you. Not on purpose…not for real,” Bleu insisted.

“Too late,” Maurizio growled, “Because you already did.”

He heard the man fumbling behind him, trying to get his feet under himself. He was rushing forward, trying to catch up to Maurizio. He could have picked up his pace, but his head hurt too much.

“Maurizio…all I have ever done-” the man’s hand caught his shoulder and they both fell forward into the snow. He groaned as Bleu pulled him over onto his back. “Maurizio, all I have ever done has been to protect you. None of this would have happened, but the Administrator knew. She knows everything.”

“And now I know everything,” Maurice stared blankly at him, so drained of emotion and energy. He could have laid in that snow all day.

“Not everything,” Bleu argued, as if to have the last word.

“Ah yes, your stupid pride,” Maurizio noted. He grabbed Bleu’s arms and shoved him. He flipped over, forcing the Frenchman down onto the ground. “I always hated how fervently stupid you were,” he growled. He felt no disdain, in fact he felt almost nothing as Bleu shoved him over onto his back again.

“I cannot believe how utterly selfish you have turned out to be!” Bleu spat, “You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with. So why am I still in love with you?”

Maurizio opened his mouth, but his thoughts were cut off by the sound of a distant voice. It was a call, a name. It was not his name, in fact, he thought it was Drake’s name.

“Drake?” he asked, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

“No, that would be your colleague,” Bleu stated bluntly.

“I was not asking you!” Maurizio pushed him off and brushed snow from his suit. The voice calling for Drake was certainly coming closer though, that much he could discern.

Bleu hissed, rubbing a leg with one hand as he pulled out the Scout class shotgun with the other. Fuck, Maurizio thought. He had to get the gun away from Bleu somehow. This hit him like panic and he felt like he had suddenly woken up from a deep slumber.

“Drake!” the other RED Spy’s voice became clearer.

Bleu checked the chamber of his gun, “One shot left.”

Maurizio panicked and grabbed for the gun, “No! You get no shots left!”

“Maurizio! Stop it!” Bleu tried to shake him off, but his efforts were for naught.

“You’re not getting that shot!” he said, struggling with the weapon.

Suddenly the other Spy was upon them. He was above them, so he did not have a good vantage point. Pulling and tugging, he tried to pull the shotgun away from them. In the struggle, the butt of the gun hit Maurizio in the face and he fell back. Dazed, he let himself lay there for a while, not wanting to move. A knife fell, falling with a soft ‘poff’ into the snow.

He rose and reached over to take the knife. He was not sure whose knife it was. It had to be one of the others’ as it has fallen out of one of their pockets, or from one of their hands. He opened the butterfly knife, revealing its deadly but beautiful blade.

He rose to his knees, already well positioned to reach Bleu’s back. He raised the knife, staring at the point on his jacket, where he intended to stab. He brought it upon the man, point down, driving it in to create a stain of red.

The Frenchman let out a scream, crying out in pain as he fell forward. The other Frenchman stumbled backwards, watching the man fall.

“Thanks,” the other RED said, his mind preoccupied as he looked around for something.

Maurizio ignored him, laying a hand on the back of the blue balaclava. Part of him wanted to take the mask off, so he could ruffle his hair one last time. He settled for gently patting the head and a few last words to him, “Good night, il mio amore.”

He did not care of the other Spy knew what it meant. He was sure the man knew about their relationship long ago. He was under no assumptions that the two of them had been good at hiding their previous relationships.

But it was over now. The relationship was over. Bleu was gone. Without respawn to help him, there was no getting him back. As he looked on, he felt a bit of dread, but then a light feeling, realizing that he did not have to deal with it anymore. It was all done and over with.

He slowly rose to his feet, wavering dizzily. The cold was too much. He wanted to just collapse back on the ground and let it take him. He was hardly able to stay awake.

“Where’s Drake?” he asked.

“I’m going to find him,” the other said, trudging off through the snow.

He followed after him. If not for the fact that the only way out of this was to stick to an uninjured person, then it was to find Drake as well.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Drake had had no idea what was happening when the snow gave out from under him. Panic and adrenaline was still at peak when he reacted quickly to grab at the first thing he could. Unfortunately, his arms were tiring out now. Hanging from a dying plant that looked like its dead roots were about to give away, Scout cried out for help in desperation.

He was not yet suicidal, so in spite it being hopeless, he cried out for help. He would keep calling and calling until his last breath. He would not give up.

He thought back to the Spy, and how he should not have run so far and so fast. If he had been slower, maybe the Spy could have caught up and helped him. Who knew how long it would be before anybody came by here. Likely never, and if they did there would be nothing left of him to show that he was ever there. He even wondered if anybody could see him from this angle.

It had been Spy all along, hadn’t it? The idle thought was confusing, as the wave of icy cold brought his entire body’s temperature down little by little. He shivered in an effort to stay alive, and he kept a hold of the thought in an effort to stay awake.

Yes, it had been Spy. He was sure of it. The Frenchman had been the one to give him advice about running. It was after that time that Scout had started running everywhere he went. It was like training, until he could surpass all of his brothers, most of which were adults, at the age of seventeen.

It had been the Spy’s word of encouragement that had sent him down the path of a speedster. The path that led him to be the man he was today. It was only a small and simple word. In fact, he had come to loath Spy for just about everything he did. But, somehow that word affected his life, didn’t it?

He closed his eyes as he tried to remember the ball game. He was up to bat and Spy came down to talk to him. His mother and brothers were cheering for him, but the Spy came down. Spy came up to him, no mask on his face, a true and genuine smile, and told him to run.

He had come to him, a mischievous smile like a real dad, ready to give advice. There had been something different back then. That was the guy Drake had wanted to be his dad, the guy who was there for his ball game.

What had happened to that man? He pondered this for a while. The guy he remembered from the ball game, the guy who suggested getting ice cream at the end of the day, he was not the guy he remembered pouring over tax papers and then disappearing. He was not the same guy he remembered fighting day in and day out. He was not the same guy he remembered coming home to find his mother was still in love with.

He had changed. Something had changed him, and then he left. It was like something was wrong. It felt like there was something he was missing.

“Scout!” the voice range so clearly that he was jerked from his thoughts with boisterous laughter, “Scout, where are you?”

“Down here!” he laughed hysterically.

Two red masked faces peered down at him. They seemed astonished that he was hanging on, or perhaps that he was laughing. Either way, Drake was glad to see them.

“Hold on!” Spy laid down on his belly and pulled out the gun. He lowered it, reaching the butt down to Drake. “Grab a hold and we’ll pull you up,” he insisted.

Drake did not argue. He reached right up to grab the gun. He was not so sure about how strong Spy was though. He was hesitant to put all of his weight onto him. The dead plant seemed like it might be a bit stronger than him.

“I’ve got you,” Spy said.

Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, he released the plant and put both hands on the gun. He let the breath out with a shudder, relieved when they did not fall.

“Come on,” Spy said, through a strained voice, “Let’s get you up here.”

He was straining to pull up, raising the Scout as high as he could. Maurice dropped down beside him to help. When he was within range, Maurice reached out and Drake grabbed his hand.

“Thanks, pally!” he said, amazed as the two Spies rose to pull him up. They were not his teammates but he was able to count on them to help. It seemed so unreal.

Everything became more unreal as the shotgun’s blast went off. The gun’s weight rested on his hand, his finger somehow resting on the trigger. He watched, numbed by fear of the fall and the cold itself, as red spattered and Spy fell into the white snow.

The white quickly became red as it pooled around him. It even filled his mouth, coming up in large amounts as his lungs became filled with fluid.

“Spy! No!” he cried out, as he shook himself from his stupor.

Spy reached into his jacket. At first he thought the man was going to pull out his dead ringer, maybe that thing would work. Maybe he could be saved after all. His gloved hand pulled a picture from an inner pocket instead. Now soaked with blood, the picture was almost ruined, but he immediately recognized it. Spy in his mask, Drake’s ma, himself and his brother Benjamin, just young men at the time, gathered to take a group photograph. It was nothing special, but it must have meant something if Spy kept it on his person. Spy clutched this picture until the life left his eyes.

Drake could only stare, tears filling his eyes and pouring down his face, while a lump proceeded to block his throat. He could not believe this. He could not believe what he was seeing. Why was he experiencing so much pain over this too? He had watched men die before, this was nothing new.

Maurizio put a hand on his shoulder, as if to comfort him. There was a long silence as they hung over the fallen body of the Spy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this chapter for a while, because the nature of it seemed so harsh that I needed at least one more chapter for you guys to cool down from. I got really emotional about this chapter and needed something to calm myself down.


	12. The Spark They Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Maurizio and Bleu became Maurizio X Bleu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluffy fluff.

Somewhere just south of the Texan Border  
June, 1966

They had talked so much that Bleu sort of forgot at some point that they were supposed to be enemies. Of course he remembered, he was BLU, dressed in a blue suit, and he was working for RED, dressed in a classy red suit. But, the concept of it all just felt foreign to him.

He should have let the infatuation die, but the more time he spent with him, the more he felt like he needed his attention. Maurizio was never short on attention either, feeding him his undying pizazz and can-do attitude like it was natural to him. It made Bleu chuckled, seeing him act so outwardly emotional and non-compliant to respective assumptions of his assessed identity.

There was still a barrier though. Even as they sat side by side, drinking a shared swill imported from Germany, having a few smokes imported from Denmark, there was something in the way. There was something blocking that feeling between them, and that was the unknown feelings of the man he looked at.

He did not just love him. He loved everything about him. He was always learning something new about Maurizio’s personality and he loved it. It was something new to adore about the man. And though he could never express it, he loved just how raw and open the Italian Spy was with him.

He had long since decided that this was just how things were going to be. That this was how life and their relationship would exist. Nothing would change, so long as Maurizio had feelings for women and not men like Bleu, and he would leave it at that. So long as he could continue to have this time spent with the man he adored.

There had been a few close calls, of course. A man like himself can only take so much suppression of love and passion. Drunkenness was excuse enough for the Italian though, who tended to laugh off Bleu’s stupid behavior when he was drunk.

It was too much to hope for an act good enough that he would not regret saying three forbidden words to the man. It would get him into too much trouble. And if for even a moment he let on that he was sober, Maurizio would call him on it.

Thinking of a joke, he turned his head to tell it. It happened so fast that he could not think. At first he thought it was an accident. A few moments was all it took for his eyes to close as his lips obeyed the ones pressed against him.

His heart began to race and his head began to swim. The only cognitive thought he could form was the question of whether this was a dream or not. This feeling was so real and vivid, and he did not want it to end. But he could not be sure that he was not asleep in his bed alone.

Suddenly their lips parted. He did not even know when Maurizio took a hold of the front of his jacket lapels. He panted, as though he had just run a race. He looked a bit disheveled too.

“I…I’m sorry,” he panted, almost desperately, “I couldn’t- I…I can’t hold it back anymore. Even if you hate me for it, I can’t- I just…I won’t lie to myself anymore.”

Their eyes met, confusion filling Bleu’s mind. What did the kiss mean? Its meaning was obvious, but he was struck with such disbelief that he did not want to stop and think about it. He did not want to think, he just wanted to feel those lips against him again.

“I cannot get you out of my head,” Maurizio admitted, breathily, “You are always fucking demanding my attention. Always my time and attention.”

Bleu started to smile at that. He _had_ wanted a lot of Maurizio’s time. He always liked being around him and being at the center of his attention.

“Don’t look so smug about weeding me out, you asshole!” he growled, clutching the lapels tightly.

“Smug? Yes,” he admitted, “Weeding you out? I’ve been desperately holding it in since the day I laid eyes on you.”

It was Maurizio’s turn to look confused. As he was staring at him, dazed and confused by what he had said, he leaned forward, pushing his lips gently against the other man’s mouth. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears and the way their mouths smacked against one another.

When they parted again, their eyes met. This time, there was a smile, a knowing smile. Bleu returned the smile. His heart was still pounding though, delighted in this finding more than anything in the world.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio closed his eyes as he took a long drag of his cigarette, “Wish I would have known you were gay before.”

He looked over at the other man, who was tiredly sprawled across the bed spread. It was too hot in this room to get under the covers. Besides, there were no windows, since he wanted nobody to see him. He was sure his guest felt the same about his own nudity.

“I still am,” the BLU Spy said, as he put a cigarette between his lips.

Maurizio reached over to light the cigarette for him. They relaxed there, just taking in the fumes of their cigarettes and the sensations left impressed upon their bodies. Sparing a glance at the BLU, he found himself curious about the man’s hair and whether he would approve of it being played with.

 

New Base in Mexico  
1990

Maurizio was relieved to see that the BLU Spy was the one he knew and enjoyed. Any other would have pissed him off. He had done everything possible to make sure that _his_ BLU Spy ended up on the opposing team.

It was not long before he started catching a trend amongst their teammates though. As Miss Pauling had put it, they were **particularly special** mercenaries. Having a look at these men, he doubted that it was because of their qualifications or skills. None of them had a true mercenary’s grit.

They had the look though. Maybe that was the thing. They were mercenaries but they were not. Within two months of arriving, Maurizio had made friends on the BLU team. Within six months, he had discovered each of their sexualities and how many of them were truly heterosexual. By the end of the year, he had made friends on both sides who were aware of the state of his relationship with the BLU Spy.

Primarily hanging around the RED Engineer, Maurizio took to ‘guarding’ the machines, in an effort to get a few chance moments with the BLU. He was taking a smoke break, leaning against a dispenser, when the BLU made himself apparent. Hidden on the other side of the dispenser, the turret could not get to him, though it started creating a series of dents on the Engineer’s favorite dispenser.

“Must you break all of his toys?” Maurizio asked, with an exasperated sigh.

“Only to come and see you,” the BLU responded with a grin.

Maurizio gave him a chuckle, “You think you’re so sly, you pesky dog?”

“I- _I’m_ a dog?” the BLU scoffed in disbelief.

“Mostly,” Maurizio giggled.

“Could you boys stop messing with my contraptions?” the Texan interrupted as he approached to take down his sentry.

“Apologies,” the BLU Frenchman bowed slightly, “I’ll use a disguise next time.”

“You’d better,” the Engineer said, “Don’t make me warn you again.”

They waited until the Engineer left, before they turned to speak to each other again. Maurizio was about to speak, when his lover took the lead.

“I have something I want to share with you,” the BLU Spy said.

“What is it?” he asked, offering him a fond smile.

“Not here,” the Spy tossed away his cigarette, “Meet me at the Fontaine Hotel after work.”

“A hotel?” he asked, but he BLU cloaked and vanished without another word.

He smirked, pondering what the BLU might have planned at the Fontaine Hotel. It was supposed to be a nice place, not like the seedy motels. It was one of those places meant to attract the foreign tourists.

 

When he arrived at the hotel, he was not sure what name to give. Seedy motels were the types of places where you could pay a guy and he would help keep you on the down low, or help send that person you’re waiting for to your room. Typically, they were given a description, in Maurizio’s case that was as simple as pointing out a red suit with a red mask.

But here, at this classy hotel, he felt this deed could not be done. Though he had spent decades visiting those suspicious places, just to see that Spy, his old habits came back to him. His back straightened and he put on an air of importance, the way one did when they were in a place of a higher set of standards.

“May I help you sir?” a man at a counter called to him.

The question made sweat build up underneath his mask. He felt like he might give out beneath the weight of the question. If he did not give a name, he would be wandering aimlessly for hours. If he asked at all, describing the BLU Spy by his attire, this hotel would get wary of him and kick him out. All bets were on him making a fool of himself, so it was best to make up something.

He took the option of a fake person, “I’m here looking for a-”

He did not get to finish as a familiar French accent cut in, “Ah, there you are!”

He turned to see that he had been sitting in the lounge with a newspaper the entire time. Lounging on one of the beautiful white couches, the man looked like he was in his element. Seemed rather off, given how unused to finer things and riches he acted. He usually talked about posh and upper class things as being above his upbringing. Then again, he was a well put together Spy who could put together a fantastic act for various situations.

“I was starting to think you were not going to come!” he approached Maurizio with a look of delight and a smile on his face. He was not usually so open with his emotions. This form of acting caught him off guard.

At least this silenced the man at the desk. He resigned himself to straightening up papers at his desk, while his guests meandered off.

“I was starting to worry I would not find you,” Maurizio replied, nervously.

“Wouldn’t find me?” the BLU chuckled, “Why wouldn’t you find me?”

He blushed profusely, “I don’t know. This isn’t one of those…motels. You can’t just pay off a guy and expect him to send somebody your way. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Yes, I know,” he chuckled, “Relax, Maurizio. I would not have left you waiting either way. I have an important thing to share with you!”

“Oh really? What is it?” he asked, eager to know.

“Not now,” he lowered his voice and raised an index finger, “It’s a surprise.”

Maurizio rolled his eyes, “You’re wary of the hallways, aren’t you? Nobody here knows your name and face. _I_ don’t even know your name and face!”

There were a few moments of silence, before the BLU Spy resumed, “Trust me, it will be worth the wait.”

Maurizio resigned himself with a nod and silence. They traveled halfway across the hotel’s map, until they reached a room on the ninth floor. They paused briefly at the door to unlock and open it, before the BLU admitted him.

As he stepped in, he took a moment to admire the lovely furnishings, so far beyond anything he had been able to live with in the past decades. The walls were a plain dull cream color – or maybe it was off white, he was not sure – and the drapes were a silken blue color to match the bedding. Normally he did not like blue anything, but this seemed rather romantic, given the single bed they would obviously be sharing.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu was so nervous. He was so nerve racked that this was happening. He was not sure how his lover would react. Maybe he would be underwhelmed, given how much hype he had put into this little meeting.

Just the hotel alone had to signify something important. And given their situation, there was not much they could do anyways, but there had to be bigger things than the thing he was planning.

He took a deep breath as he closed the door. This was it, the final moment of truth. There would be no turning back from this. So, after locking the door and turning to the other man’s back, he removed his balaclava.

“It’s Bleu by the way,” he insisted.

“Hmm?” Maurizio turned to look at him, surprised to see the face before him. He looked so shocked that it began to worry the BLU Spy.

He cleared his throat and decided to speak again, “My name is Bleu.”

“Bleu? As in the company acronym for Builders League United?” the RED Spy asked. He had such a daunted look on his face.

He chuckled, hoping to set aside the awkwardness he felt. He stepped towards Maurice, hoping to close some space between them and make things more intimate. Up to this point, he had only considered that he might not be _attractive_ in the eyes of a has-been player. He had not really considered, until this moment, that perhaps Maurice liked the air of mystery. The feeling of not knowing was perhaps something he liked, and maybe that was why he did not actively seek out the BLU Spy’s information like he did with him.

“My name is Bleu Chevalier,” he explained, hesitantly. Maybe he was screwing this all up by raising his mask. “As you have already guessed, I am from France. Not Paris, as you so blatantly call me.” He hoped for just a chuckle over one of the nicknames Maurice had used over the years, but the man did not even crack a smile. Desperate, he searched the man’s face for some sign of a reaction, negative or otherwise.

He needed a sign. Repulsion maybe? Love? Fondness? Outrage? There had to be some sort of indication as to how the man was taking this news.

“Your name…is Bleu?” there was hesitation in the man’s words.

“Yes,” he responded, with a hopeful little smile. Over twenty years of working against each other, falling in love with each other – or maybe it was lust – and holding each other through the pains of the war, and he could not even get a decent reaction.

Maurice started chuckling breathily, shaking his head. He closed his eyes and pretended to wipe a tear from his face. It was a dramatic gesture, usually to show sarcasm in his humor, but this seemed a bit different.

“Your name is Bleu!” he laughed a little harder.

“Y-yes,” Bleu grew a bit irritated now. Did he really think this was so funny? Was this all a joke to him?

“I can’t…I can’t believe…” he was huffing, trying to stop his laughter and catch his breath, even though he had not been laughing very hard, “All this time I’ve been calling you by an acronym that works so similarly to your name. _And_ your name means the same damn thing!”

He broke into laughter, doubling over like this was the best joke he had heard in a long time. Bleu could only stand there and watch. A feeling of dread washed over and was immediately replaced by horror. Was there any way of wiping a man’s memory to start over?

Suddenly, Maurice took a breath and straightened in one swift motion. He smiled at Bleu as he raised his hands to pull the red balaclava off of his head. Underneath it was a man who was older than the pictures he had seen, but still good looking by all rights. He had curly gold locks that were clipped close to his ears, with a bit of gray forming on the sideburns.

Bleu’s heart was pounding in his chest. Looking at his face, he could not even remember the pictures. They were nothing like his real face. They did not do his real face justice, the way it looked in front of himself.

“My name is Maurizio Tizzone,” he giggled, “Not that you did not already know that, but I am from Italy. A homeless child turned racecar driver turned mafia in-law.”

Bleu stood in silence as Maurizio affirmed all the things he had dug up about him over the years. Everything had been true, but it had been a journey to get to know the man behind accusations and paperwork. Now, here they stood, revealed before each other like a couple of jackasses seeking the other’s approval.

“I waited more than twenty years for this,” Maurizio closed the space between them and pushed Bleu’s back right up against the door as he pushed a kiss on him.

He had wanted this for so long. To feel trust. To feel trusted. To want the other man to know so much about his life that he had yet to feel free to tell him. Now he could tell him and feel that it was okay. In spite of everything, in spite of Mann Co’s recent changes in function, everything would be alright.

It was not like he needed the money. Finding out that Mann Co was using them as puppets on a show for profit, not even needing the war to occur, he would have taken off. But the man who had explained it all to him had made it very clear that not only would he be hunted, but so would every man he told and took with him. And any man he told would be subjected to any amount of tortures that would keep them quiet.

Of all the things he wanted to tell Maurizio, that was one he would not. He would keep it quiet, never being sure how the RED would take to knowing that he was put on display for television, and that Bleu had been tortured to stay quiet. He would bear the burden, just to keep Maurizio safe from that kind of horror.

 

Laying next to the man in the late hours of the night, Bleu found himself restless. Next to him was the same man he had laid beside for years. Now was different though, no longer staying in secret, as they had removed their masks. Now he could look at the face and even comb his fingers through the short cropped yellow hair.

He felt so alive, just being able to look at him. Just being able to know that this was the man he loved. This was the man he cared for so dearly and trusted. This was the man he had gone through torture and would bear the burden of that torture’s secret for.

“You’re awake,” Maurizio stated quietly, not bothering to open his eyes.

Bleu was a little surprised to find Maurizio awake. Or perhaps he had woken him. Either way, it was an unintentional circumstance.

“Apologies, if I woke you,” he said softly.

“No no,” he yawned before opening his eyes, “I’ve been awake wondering when you would go to sleep.”

“You knew I was awake?” Bleu stared at him.

“Hard to miss,” he scooted a little closer, as if seeking body heat, “I’ve been laying next to year for twenty or so years. I’ve figured out your patterns.”

Bleu chuckled, “So you’ve figured out how I breathe when I’m awake and when I sleep?”

“When you sleep you are like a chain saw,” Maurizio chuckled, then mimicked the sound of an engine.

“That sounded more like a car,” Bleu teased.

“Yea? I always was better with cars than anything else,” Maurizio admitted with a sigh, “Even…even Spy work.”

“Did you ever think of going back to racing?” he bit his lip with regret at asking this question.

“No,” Maurizio shook his head, his eyes turned down, “I can’t go back to that life. Not after the accident.”

“What do you mean?” Bleu’s interest was intrigued.

“When the police came to arrest me, I ran at first,” Maurizio replied, still not meeting his gaze, “I told you how I flipped the car?”

Bleu’s hand reached over to gently touch the large scar marring the other man, from his belly around his side to his upper back. He remembered the story about how he fled the police. There was enough paperwork about it that he learned about the incident on his own without asking. Still, it was nice to hear it from the man himself.

“Even after I got out, even when I came to Mann Co, I couldn’t- I mean…I could. I can remember how. I can use the controls. But it starts moving and I panic,” he had this forlorn look and a tone of despair in his voice.

Bleu brought his hand up to cup the other’s face. His eyes turned up to meet his gaze, finally looking at him. He gave him a smile, feeling a fondness like love wanted to explode his heart and spread through his body.

“It’ll be alright,” his thumb stroked Maurizio’s cheek, “I can drive well enough for the both of us.”

Maurizio smiled and leaned forward. His face came to his and Bleu met him partway. His lips just sort of obeyed as Maurizio took control of the kiss. His mind and heart were in bliss in this place of love. He laid there, unable to sleep, next to the only man he could ever trust in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this coupling.  
> I personally feel like the first half of Maurizio's life was like this inspiring story of a poor kid built up into a sort of racecar celebrity, but his newfound legacy is torn down by the relations of his in-laws.  
> I loved everything about writing this chapter.  
> This chapter helped me to forget that I wanted to cry while I was writing the previous chapter.  
> So I hope this chapter helped you.


	13. Have to go Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake and Maurizio are stranded in the snow. The blizzard has died down, but Maurizio still has a severe head injury and they are stuck in the cold.  
> Antoine respawns in New York, and quickly finds a random ally to help him go back.  
> Bleu respawns in New York, angry, frustrated, sad and in pain. He has lost everything he had and cared about. All he has is the job he used to keep all of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings! This one is a bit heavy with grief, please proceed with caution.  
> Grieving death  
> Grieving a sexual attack  
> Grieving a break up

Maurizio watched as the BLU Scout crouched beside the body, his head bent to hide beneath his hands. There was such a look of shame and terror to his pose. He might as well have curled into a fetal position.

“No! No!” the boy was murmuring.

He felt really bad, but he also felt really confused. He did not particularly care for the other Spy, but he would never wish him dead. Still, the boy’s sudden decision to care about the enemy Spy was immensely more worrying.

As he sat down in the snow, Maurizio lowered to a crouch, laying a gloved hand on his back. The leather gloves were never good at protecting from heat or cold, leaving his hands ice cold beneath the leather. Little had he realized that the body heat from Drake would seep right through to comfort his fingers.

“We should…we should go,” he said, hoping to urge the younger man to his feet.

They had to move, as sitting still was a promise of death in this cold weather. The blizzard had died down, leaving the beautiful white scenery around them to be seen. But, the blizzard left behind its icy death.

“I…I can’t,” the young man stammered. He was crying now? “I can’t believe he’s dead!”

Maurizio frowned, looking at the bloodied corpse, “It can’t be helped, Scout.” He bit his lip as he continued rubbing the other man’s back. “Drake, if we stay here, we’ll be dead soon.”

“I’m not leaving without him,” Scout picked up his head in a firm and stubborn gesture.

“We can’t drag him!” Maurizio exclaimed, horrified at the idea of trying to drag literal dead weight through this cold and unforgiving snow.

“I can’t leave him like this,” Drake said, tears streaking his cheeks, “Out in the snow. No burial. No tombstone.”

“What do you really want? I mean…we could bury him. It’s likely the snow would keep him cold and we can come back when we have proper gear to bury him,” he offered, hoping the Scout would take the compromise.

“I can’t leave him like this!” Scout bit his hand as he thought about his options. It seemed likely his fingers were numb, so he was not really paying attention to what he was doing anymore.

“Drake,” he took Scout’s shoulder and gave it a firm shake. The youth looked at him, his eyes so red and full of pain. “I know you care,” he lied, unsure of what else to put as a placeholder for not knowing the relation between Drake and this unnamed Spy, “But we will die before we can bury him. He wouldn’t want that.” That was more bluffing, as he did not know what the other Spy would want.

“Well…” Drake swiped his arm across his face as he returned his gaze to the corpse, “I just…I…I didn’t…he wasn’t…I haven’t- ugh.” He gave up on trying to speak his mind. There was a long pause before he rose to his full height. “Let’s just go man,” his voice made him sound so broken, like he had given up.

Maurizio nodded, quickly taking up the chance to get out of the cold. They would head back to the car and start from there. If nothing else, the car could offer them some semblance of warmth. At best, he could figure out what broke and fix it. If it was not a part that had to be replaced.

“You uh…you coulda just left, you know,” Scout offered.

Maurizio knew that, but he also knew that he would not have survived on the way back. “And leave behind my new best buddy? Nah!” he chuckled. Something caught his shoe from under the snow and he stumbled forward and fell down.

Drake quickly helped him to his feet again, asking him if he was okay. He was asking if something was wrong. His first instinct, having worked so long as a Spy, was to wave off his concern and insist that everything was alright. Then, he remembered that he was with Drake and they were in the middle of a snow laden mountain with injuries.

“I think I’ve lost a lot of blood,” he admitted with a sigh, “My head’s kinda dizzy.”

“I gotcha,” Drake put Maurizio’s arm over his shoulders, offering him something to lean on as they walked back in the direction that they figured the car was in.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu opened his eyes and looked around. The giant respawn room was dimly lit, spacious only for its moments of being loaded up with mercenaries. From the looks of things, it was probably dark outside already and the building was probably mostly empty. It would be easier for him to work, having the entire place to himself.

As he stepped from the room, of course he was reminded that he was indeed not alone. A Pyro waved to him, calling to him behind his muffling mask. No doubt he or she was one of the more sane creatures, but knowing they had the intellectual level to handle a team did not make them any less creepy.

The sound of another soul respawning caught his attention. He thought nothing of it though. This respawn had dozens of mercenaries attached to it. No doubt it covered all of the bases from Canada down to Argentina. Though, he figured those mercenaries would have further to travel if they were to get back to where they wanted to go.

“FUCK!” a fellow Frenchman shouted from the respawn room.

Taken by surprise he spun around to look. The man was not looking at him, but rather turning heated in a small temper tantrum. He growled and made noises, gesturing with his arms wildly as he started spewing a mix of English and French slurs.

It was the fucking RED Spy, the man he was supposed to be working with. He was here, in the respawn. That had to mean that he died up on the mountains shortly after he did. Good, he thought. He was glad the man could suffer for a bit, giving himself a feeling of satisfaction.

His satisfaction was not over though, not by a long shot. He took on a poised posture, slipping his hands behind his back. It gave him an excuse without looking suspicious, hiding his gestures as he pulled out a knife. He would not make this quick, he would ambush the man and make this very painful for him. Given that there were so few others around, there would not be anybody willing to step in, he was sure.

“You!” the RED exclaimed with surprise.

“Yes, surprise,” he said, in a deadpan tone, “A handler sent to respawn. Never expected it.”

The RED scoffed, “Of course you’d be sent to the respawn.”

Red in the face, at least on the skin that Bleu could see, the other Spy started to leave respawn in a storming rage. He let him walk towards the door before he brought the knife up, ready to bring it on his spine. He was not expecting the man to glance back at him and then duck out of the way.

He began shouting at him in French, “You’re trying to kill _me_?”

He ducked out the door and drew his revolver from his jacket. Bleu cursed himself mentally as he realized that he had not calculated for defense. The other Spy _would_ be quicker to catch an attack. And of course he would already have a plan of attack in response.

Bleu on the other hand, standing in an empty respawn room, had nothing. He had not plans, nothing to fall back on, and not even instinctual training for this situation. As a mercenary, he had spent all of his time fighting with a respawn to catch him and bring him back quickly. This respawn room did not even have anything to hide behind. He was sure to end up being sent back through respawn, but standing in the respawn did not mean that his spawning would be bumped up from the amount it took before.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Antoine stormed from the respawn room, tucking his revolver away. Glad to be rid of the BLU Spy, he made his way to his office. He was expecting to find the Russian Spy there, but he was glad to find that she was nowhere to be seen. He went immediately to his desk and started digging for whatever he could use to get back to the mountains.

The emptiness of the building left his head with a ringing silence that echoed throughout his mind. He felt like it was going to eat him alive, before he started pacing the hallway outside of his office. He was so caught up in his panicked thoughts that he almost ran into the Heavy coming his way.

The BLU offered him a nervous smile, then a sandwich. Seeing as he had not eaten anything in a long while, he accepted it with a gracious thanks. People here knew that BLU and RED were no different, they were all working for the same side. Though, that was mostly their own side.

“Little Spy is…troubled?” the Russian asked, watching him take a bite of the sandwich.

“My death was under certain circumstances that I am not at liberty to discuss,” he lied. He did not want to tell him that he was accidentally shot in the face. “But it leaves several other mercenaries outside of respawn to die.”

“Die? They will be okay, da?” the man asked.

“I’m afraid that I may be too late,” he glanced up at a clock. It had taken more than three hours for him to respawn, based on his estimation of the time he died.

The Heavy made a disgusted sound, “Is not good.”

“I still need to get out there,” he said, his heart pounding. Maurizio was still there with Drake, so they had to have gone back to the car. Maybe if nothing else they had three hours’ worth of gas to keep them warm. “If they are still alive, I have to reach them.”

“Spy has car?” the Heavy asked.

He felt his cheeks heat. The one that crashed in the snow was the one he usually kept at respawn. “It is broken down in the mountains,” he admitted.

“Is okay,” Heavy said. That took him off guard, given that was not a good situation. “Heavy will drive,” the big man said, motioning to the Spy.

“Wait, what?” he asked with surprise.

“Heavy is bored and need something to do,” the big man said, “Will help little man to get back to teammates.”

He motioned for Antoine to follow, leading him up a flight of stairs. He had not been this way in a long time. The last time he went up here was when he was sent on a mission in Northern Canada. That was a very long time ago.

They were up in a helicopter pad, with a big chopper sitting there waiting for its driver. He was quite hesitant about this, not sure he should be up here. The cold air of New York did not help either, making him wish for more layers, in spite of having been in snow just hours ago. All around, he could see the distant lights of the city, with the closer area being dimmed down by its ghetto residency.

“Are you sure we are supposed to be up here?” Antoine asked, as the Heavy approached the chopper.

“Yes!” Heavy gave him a smile, “Heavy is pilot. I take you to mountain.”

Antoine hesitated before he clambered into the big machine. He was always hesitant about helicopters, not that he was afraid of them or anything. But in this case, it just seemed strange that a Heavy was flying one. It was usually a Spy, or somebody hired from some outside company.

“Seatbelts on,” the Heavy said, as he started up the engines. The vehicle was loud, its whirring blades already creating a ruckus before reaching full speed.

“What mountains we go to?” the Heavy asked, as he prepped the machine for take off.

“Rocky Mountains,” he answered, “Quite possibly one of the worst areas of it too.”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu respawned to find himself in New York still. His mind was spinning around thoughts about escaping the RED, before he managed to calm himself down. It had been hours, and as he looked around, the RED Spy had disappeared.

Before long, he headed to his office, a quaint little place shared by a Sniper. He rarely spoke to the Sniper, only having met him twice in all of the time they had been working there. He kept to himself, and the Sniper seemed to do the same.

Sniper’s desk was never well kept though. While he was not often there, there were still a few things that he always left behind, such as a decorative hula girl, or a set of matches scattered across the surface. Right now, the Sniper’s desk had an almost finished game of solitaire laid across it.

It was almost too much for Bleu not to try and finish the game for him. He turned his back to the Sniper’s desk, forcing himself to look at the dusty desk that he had left behind. Always left neat and tidy, this place was like a home away from home. He rarely wanted to be away from home, but there had been a few times when he needed to sit here and think. It allowed him some space from his teammates and enemies, especially when he had to plan for something big.

The one decorative thing that he had on the desk was a picture of him and Maurizio. The RED Spy was smiling, playfully pretending to be drunk, despite only being halfway through that first beer that he was holding in his hand. His arm was looped over Bleu’s shoulders, as the two posed together for the shot.

He remembered that. It was one of their first parties, when the REDs and the BLUs started to become more lax about relations outside of the battlements. So long as the cameras saw them fighting, they could be as pleasant with each other as they wanted. It had turned out for the best too, as making the friends they had had changed their lives.

This picture had a purpose on his desk. Whenever he was away from Maurizio, not only did he miss him, but it was easy to forget why he was doing this job in the first place. He needed something to remind him, even when he was mad at his long time lover, that he still loved that man.

All he had done here, all of his work, had been for Maurizio. When they told him about the change in Mann Co’s work, he had been quick to get mad and choose to leave. They were prepared for that, having prepped a cell to keep him in, where they could remind him and remind him that they had his boyfriend and they could do anything to him while he was away. Watching the video feeds and learning how Mann Co could easily make life hell for Maurizio, or even make it end.

He could not let that happen. He would not let that happen. The life he spent in this office was spent creating plans to placate others and manipulate the teams so that Maurizio would never be attacked. It had worked for so long, so why did it go so wrong? It worked to keep him alive, to keep him safe, and to keep him close.

But now, Maurizio did not want anything to do with him as a lover. He was angry and spiteful. He could let him get his anger out, as he knew the outrageous amount of passion that could build up in that man’s heart. But, now he was giving up on their relationship. He had-

He tried to force himself to stop thinking about it. His mind wanted to replay the memories from the icy base they had been leaving when the car was crashed. Maurizio crossed a line, and he did not think he could go back just remembering those.

He had been pushing and shoving these thoughts down, pushing the memories at the base away. He knew what it was and he knew why Maurizio did it. But, that did not change how much it hurt him.

He turned the face of the picture down. He could not look at it. He could not think about Maurizio right now and not think about what he did and how it felt.

He felt broken. He clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to refrain the noise of a sob. He needed to cry, but he would not. He refused to lower his dignity to crying over this incident of torture.

Maurizio had been right though, as he was about people. He was always on point about what makes a person the way they are. And nothing broke him like feeling, hearing and seeing Maurizio be the one to dole out the punishment. Just that part of it alone had been the weight to break him, when all of the trained Spy’s tactics had not.

This all fell on him though, didn’t it? He never told Maurizio why he was doing things. He just did what he wanted, and that made Maurizio angry. It was in his frustration that Maurizio got fed up and decided to leave him. It was because Bleu never told him the truth that Maurizio did not understand that Bleu _had_ to kill that woman. He failed, but he had to at least try. It was her or the man he loved.

He leaned against the back of his chair, trying not to let the tears spring forth. The lump in his throat made it impossible to speak without his voice cracking. He was sure that his face was red too. To top it all off, he could not stop the shudder of his shoulders from the way he sobbed.

The door opened suddenly. He did not want to know who it was, but he wanted them to go away. He listened as the boots stepped towards the Sniper’s desk. Oh, it was the Sniper. So they finally met again, after however many years.

How strange a sight this must have been. To come here and find the BLU Spy he worked near was just about to collapsed as his knees quake, red in the face, hand over mouth, and eyes dead as they stared at the back of the picture frame.

Don’t look at me! He wished he could portray this feeling without speaking, and without showing his current vulnerability. He dared not speak, lest his voice cracked beneath the strain of the lump and the shakiness of his shoulders.

A large hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. Silence followed it, as the Sniper said nothing. He just sort of held his hand there. At first it was daunting, scaring Bleu into believing that he might try something. But, after a while, it began to do the trick of easing his mind, giving him a small bit of comfort as he stopped shaking.

He took careful breaths as he closed his eyes. He wished away the tears, wanting to display only that he could handle his job. It was not as if he could just give up on his work so soon, not without considering every factor.

Maurizio had stabbed him in the back. That was a fact he would have to live with. Maurizio had literally, knowing he would die, knowing the consequences of his actions, brought a knife down on his spine. The man had already given up on him and their relationship. But, how did one give up something they had worked so hard to protect? And how did he forgive what was done to him in the first place?

For now, he took solace in the fact that somebody understood how tasking this job was. It was just a hand on his shoulder, but it meant a lot. It did not ease his mind of the worry and fears of what happened, but it grounded him to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victims of assault are often left with a heavy emotional burden and self-blame.  
> I feel conflicted.  
> As characters, Bleu and Maurizio were made for each other. I love these characters so much. But, with the way the story has gone, that will never be again. We cannot go back.


	14. I Left You Dead in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio and Drake get rescued! Antoine sits down with his boy to have an angry heart to heart too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down and wrote this out in one freaking sitting. I feel like I am getting my writing groove back.

Drake suddenly roused, a hand shaking his shoulder. “Stay awake,” Maurice’s voice interrupted his dream state.

He huffed a sigh and sat up, trying to gather his brain capacity. He was so sleepy and he could not remember when he last slept. He supposed it was just before the car crashed. However long ago that was, he was not sure. Whatever the case, he was burnt out.

Cry for the Spy? No, he did not do that. That did not make his emotions any less eminent though. He felt shaken from the core.

Watching the Spy die like that shook something in him. It released some feeling, like the last of everything he once knew was gone. The last of his family was gone, even if he had not considered the Spy a part of his family in the first place. Maybe it was just that he was there, he was always there, watching over Drake’s shoulder.

Thinking back, could it really all have been for his mother? He did not know the guy to be the kind to keep promises. After he disappeared the first time, he was in and out of his life, and that meant many broken promises. Many baseball games missed. Many fights that left Scout a bloody mess seeking his brothers’ help. A lot of heart break for his ma too.

Maybe it was the regret. Maybe it was the many broken promises to Drake’s ma that caused him to be so adamant about it. It was not like he was strictly guarding Drake. After all, he had taken a few stabs at the BLU Scout from time to time.

He was sure that it could not have all been for her. He wanted to tell himself that somewhere in all of that, it was about Scout. It was about the times they spent together when he was young and naïve enough not to have been such a prick to his ma’s French boyfriend.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted after all of that,” Maurice said, “Almost dying and all of that really takes it out of a man. Believe me, I’ve been there.” He took out a new cigarette and lit it up, disregarding the other man in the car.

He had completely missed what Drake was upset about. He did not even realize that Scout was thinking about the other RED Spy. Though, now that Drake thought about it, he could not even remember the guy’s name.

“I can’t believe he’s dead now,” Drake said, more to fill the emptiness in his mind than anything.

He was not sure the Italian Spy would ever get it. He would have to go over his entire history for the guy to start to get it. He had lived this life himself, and _he_ was still not sure that he understood why he felt these things.

“You had some sort of…connection…to the other Spy?” Maurice eyed him thoughtfully, “He always did seem favorable toward you.”

Scout turned away from him, staring out the window. All he could see was the same white landscape. Nothing had changed.

Nothing at all had changed in decades. Everything had stayed the same for so long that he had forgotten so many important things. It really took the threat of death for him to remember a good moment with the Spy, was he forgetting anything else?

His thoughts were interrupted by a distant humming sound. It was distant but familiar; it was a helicopter. At first he wanted to hop out to see, but then he realized that it would probably pass over them without taking notice of their situation. They were sitting dogs and the helicopter would not even pause at their fates.

“Time to hail for help,” Maurice hopped out of the car.

His head spun to look at the Spy, who was in worse condition than him. He let in a cold breeze, icy against the skin, before the door closed again. They had been shivering in here for how long that Drake was not even sure he had the willpower to move about.

Still, seeing Maurice outside, he figured he should help the guy. He was more likely to fall over of the two of them. What was more, he was going to the hood of the car.

He clambered out his door and shivered, hugging himself tightly. He stumbled towards the front of the car, peering to see what the man was doing. He hoped the concussion was not too much that he was not thinking properly.

“What uh…what are you doing?” he asked.

“We’re going to make a spark,” he took some wires he had connected to the car’s battery. He turned to Drake and smiled, “See if you can find any kind of kindling. Anything we can burn.”

He glanced around, “Are you kidding me? There’s snow everywhere! Everything’s wet!”

He looked up to see the helicopter getting closer and closer. Soon it would be over them, and then it would pass. Searching for kindling would be an idle pastime in the cold. This was a bad idea and he was sure that Maurice might start the car on fire.

“Look man, we won’t have time to hail them anyways,” he said, with despair in his voice, “You’re injured bad, and you’re not able to think straight. Come on. Let’s get you in the car where it’s warm. You bled a lot, man.”

Maurice opened his mouth to protest, just as the wind started to pick up. The snow started to dust around them, brushing against their pants, and then against their faces. Scout raised an arm to guard his face, walking towards Maurice to make sure he did not fall. The guy did not look like he had the strength to withstand even the gentlest breeze.

They both looked up to see the helicopter getting closer. It was practically overhead, but now it was coming closer to them, closer to the ground. Holding Maurice’s shoulder to make sure he did not fall, Drake watched in awe as the helicopter came down towards them.

There was not room enough for it to land though. The strip of icy road was inhabited by trees and brush that could damage the vehicle. No doubt the driver could see this well enough. So, they threw out a rope ladder, and a giant figure came sliding down a rope.

Covered in clothes from head to foot, Drake could not make out the face. He did notice the Mann Co emblem on the sleeve of the jacket though, so he figured it was safe. He grabbed Maurice and pulled him forward, intending for him to be the first one up. The figure went for him though.

“You have to take the Spy! He’s badly injured! He can’t make it up on his own!” Drake shouted over the whir of the helicopter.

The figure said something loudly, before guiding the Scout to the ladder. Drake grabbed on, looking over his shoulder to make sure his request was being followed. To his relief, the big man took the Spy like a small child and latched him to a harness he was wearing.

Without warning, the man started climbing up the ladder past him, apparently having thought he would have climbed up before them. In normal circumstances, he would have, but he was stunned for a bit longer, before he followed the big man up to the helicopter.

When the big man disappeared inside the copter with Maurice, Drake was alone outside on the ladder. For that long minute, he contemplated something he never thought he would. He looked down, and for a time, even as his hands and legs moved him upward, he thought about letting go and letting himself drop down. The more he stared at the white ground, with the snow covered car, and the icy road, the more he thought that it was a more viable option than trying to go back to base.

He was on the last few rungs when he stopped climbing. What was the point of moving upward? What was the point of continuing? There was nowhere else to go. There was nowhere further he could go. There was nowhere else to be. It was not like he had anybody who cared. He used to have the Soldier around, but that guy was apparently disappearing from his life with his own Spy.

His hand was loosening its grip when a cold leather glove grabbed his wrist. His head jerked, looking up at the hooded figure overhead. Behind him, the big figure approached to reach down with him. Drake could not stop looking at the face framed by the hood though.

“Scout, get in here! It’s freezing!” the RED Spy shouted with irritation.

Drake’s body seemed to just obey as he was pulled inside by two guys. The big guy started rolling up the ladder, before stepping to the driver’s seat, where he had left Maurice to hold the controls. Maurice groaned and seemed to pass out in his seat, cigarette dangling from his lip.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I bring rescue and you start stalling on the ladder? What the fuck? Do you _want_ to die here?” the Spy was scorning him, as he closed the door.

“S-Spy?” Drake could not fathom words properly through that lump in his throat. He stared, dumb and conflicted. “You’re alive…”

“Yes, yes, I am alive,” the Spy said, dismissively, not really meeting Drake’s gaze, “I can explain that later.”

Drake did not resist as his arms flung out and his body moved towards the Spy. He wrapped the taller man in a hug, holding onto him tightly. His body shook as he wept, admitting to the tears for once.

Here was the Spy, alive and well. He had seen the death though, far from respawn. He had witnessed the gunshot go through his head. He had seen the blood as it oozed and stained the white snow. He had witnessed the man’s fatal fall.

“Alright…alright…” Spy drew him towards the chairs, “Get into your seat. We have a long flight.”

“Buckle up!” the biggest man pulled aside his face covering, revealing a heavy Russian accent.

Drake sat down on one of the warm seats and buckled the belt, as instructed. He glanced over at the Spy, who was doing the same. He was still wrapping his head around the wasted time fretting over how he had pulled the trigger on the Spy. Or was this all a dream in his head?

 

The facility they were brought to was unlike anything Scout had seen. He certainly did not remember Mann Co having large buildings dedicated to mercenaries having work space outside of the bases. It was typically up to mercenaries to make their own space on a base for work. That relied on agreeing on what space was usable by whom.

This place was apparently equipped with a helicopter pad, personal rooms with offices, and most importantly, a giant infirmary for testing medical equipment. This was where Spy brought them, intending to have Drake and Maurice looked over and taken care of. He had so little time to ask questions too, as he looked around the big space full of Medics from both RED and BLU teams. Many of them did not even wear identifying colors, just a plain white lab coat to fit into their surroundings.

They ended up laying Maurice on a table under a ceiling mounted medigun. Drake stood beside the table, hoping to keep an eye on the guy while he was passed out. With so many Medics around, there was no telling how many crazies might try and get their hands on an unwitting experimental patient.

Spy had just finished thanking the Heavy who had saved them with the helicopter, when he approached Drake. He looked like he had something to say, but he was saving it. Why that was, Drake did not know, there was so much he _needed_ to say.

“Spy? What even is this place?” he demanded, a bit sternly. He figured the Spy would put up a bit of a fight, arguing with him about what should and should not be said, or something along those lines.

That was why he felt so surprised when the Spy immediately conceded, “This is a facility for Mann Co’s _handlers_ to do their lesser known work.”

“Handlers, huh?” Scout tried to pretend that he knew what he was talking about. Surely Spy would reveal something about the concept.

“What the others cannot know about is done here,” he replied, “That’s why you have never seen such a place.”

“So uh…why’d you bring us here? It’s supposed to be a secret, right?” Drake asked, leaning against the table that Maurice was sleeping on.

“It’s not so simple,” Spy argued, “This place isn’t actually a secret. The public knows about it. It’s the mercenaries who would not know what to do with the information in it that are not to know about it.”

“That didn’t make any sense,” Drake responded.

“Trust me, it did,” Spy refuted, folding his arms over his chest.

“Alright, alright,” Drake held up his hands.

He did not really want to talk about this. He did not really care. Secrets were nothing new or unique to him. After all, the questions were just to break the ice wide open.

“So…uh…look Spy,” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“I know you’re sorry for running off as you did,” Spy said with a dismissive flick of the wrist, “And I know you did not mean to pull the trigger. I should have put the safety on when I took it from Maurizio.”

“Th-that’s…uh…yea, but…I wanted to talk about…other stuff,” he insisted.

“Other stuff?” Spy gave him a wary once over. He had that Spy look, the one where he was being distant and leery. “If you are trying to be cryptic, then you are failing at the point of being cryptic.”

“N-no…I mean,” he sighed, sinking back against the table with his head falling. The table suddenly decided to slide behind him and it tilted over. With a yelp and a cry for help, he hurried to grab the table and Maurizio’s leg before he fell.

The man was too deep in his slumber to notice or care that he was falling. He just continued snoring while Scout righted him. A Medic walked over to adjust the position of the table, in a very obsessive manner. He gave Scout and accusatory glare and pointed to a door that led to the stairs.

“Alright,” Scout ducked his head apologetically, before he headed towards the door with Spy.

They were both silent as the stepped through the door. They were still quiet as they made their way up the stairs to the floor of offices, where this Spy apparently worked. Both had completely forgotten about the RED Spy they left in the infirmary.

Scout was about to stop in the hallway when Spy turned a corner and continued down a hall. Drake hurried after him, not wanting to get left behind. He was not sure where he was going or why, but he figured it would be clear soon enough.

And soon enough came, as they stepped into one of the offices. It was a small place with two desks. They were completely different in appearance too. One had this girlish look, with women’s style products on the surface. Even glittery and pink pens scattered by the paperwork. The other was fairly well kept, with just a few framed pictures and a file of papers stacked upright in one corner.

Spy turned and motioned to the other desk’s chair as he took his own chair. He sighed with relief, as if he had been standing for a long period of time. There was something weary about the Spy’s complexion, something that tickled Drake’s memory.

Drake sat down, “Listen, I know this is…really late and all…I just, gotta get things off my chest. Okay?”

“I’m all ears,” the Spy replied. He was leaning, trying to stay upright, with an elbow on his desk and his eyes falling shut.

“Almost dying out there…it was different from anything I had experienced and while it was fucking terrifying and I never want to go through that again, but I never would have realized…some of the things that happened,” he explained hastily, trying to get his thoughts out as quickly as possible, “I know I’ve been…kind of a jerk.”

“Kind of?” the Spy raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yea yea,” Drake rolled his eyes, “I mean it when I say…I’m sorry. For this…and for everything.”

“Everything?” the Spy gave him a hesitant and questioning look.

“I know you’d like to think that I’m just a dumb kid, but I know…some things…okay? I’m not…I’m not my brothers,” he went on, “I know I can be a bit brash, but I…I _am_ thankful, Spy.”

The Spy had a genuine look on his face, but he could not decide what it meant. Was it surprise? Was he pleased at getting gratitude? Scout decided to take a breath and keep moving forward with it.

“It took a lot to remind me that there _was_ a time when you were there for me. And it was really hard for me when you just…disappeared like you did. I couldn’t accept it. And then you came back, and well it’s not so easy to accept your mother’s on again off again boyfriend-”

Spy slammed a hand onto his desk and half rose from his chair. The sudden fury was practically fuming from his nose and burning from his eyes. Drake was legitimately startled at seeing the stark change in disposition.

“I wasn’t your mother’s boyfriend! I was _never_ just her on again off again boyfriend!” Spy raised his voice with outrage.

“Sure fucking seemed like it!” Drake rose to match him, not wanting to be overwhelmed by the other man in this conversation.

“I wasn’t her boyfriend, Drake! I was not even new to her life! I had known her longer than you were alive! I loved her! I loved her before you were born! Before you were even a fucking idea!” the Spy’s volume raised so high that Drake would have to boost his own yelling if he was to match, but he could not seem to rev up the words to say. “I…” Spy took a breath and suddenly sat back down.

Drake was left standing there for a minute, completely bewildered. He was not sure what took the wind out of the man’s sails. How did he manage to get the upper hand so soon?

“You were this new life we would have together, and then they threatened to take all of that away,” Spy started talking, his head bowed into one hand, “You were but a few months in her belly…and they called me away to France. For thirteen damned years. And then I finally come home…last mission they promised…and there you were…all grown up.”

Spy finally looked up at him, tears in his eyes. Drake felt quite shocked. He had not seen Spy cry since his mother passed away. That had been hard on them both, but after seeing the others comfort Spy, he had refused the comforts that came with grieving.

“I came back to find my boy had grown up without me, my fiancé was in debt, she was going to be arrested for not paying certain taxes, and several of her sons were in legal trouble. Not to mention _Carl’s_ little issue with the local mob boss,” Spy was practically rambling at this point.

“Don’t you start on Carl!” Drake exclaimed. The second in the line of boys, Carl was always good to everybody. He was known for his drinking and gambling problems, but those were just fun hobbies he had, not something to fault his entire person for.

“I _will_ start on Carl!” Spy retorted, angrily and defiantly, “Carl mooched off of your mother’s giving nature until she was flat broke! And then what did he do? He gave her information to a mob boss. He gave her information to a fucking _mob boss_ , Drake!”

“Okay! Okay! I get it! He did something stupid!” Drake threw his hands up defensively, slowly taking a seat.

“No…no he didn’t,” Spy sighed at him, folding his arms over his chest again, “He did something terrible. He did it on purpose. He did it because if he threw your family under the bus, he would be left alone.”

“But we didn’t have any problems with the mob,” Drake argued, hesitantly. At least, he did not remember anything about a mob boss or mafia trying to harm his family.

“That’s because I took control of the situation,” Spy growled, “I didn’t want to, but I left to get Carl and erase every bit of information that they had of the family; names, birthdays, addresses, ailments, allergies, descriptions, and even pictures were erased. I did not stop at memories, I erased anybody who could bring them to that house.”

There was a long pause. It was heavy and frightening. Drake felt like he was inhaling lead it was so heavy. It was hard to think too, trying to imagine when this was and what was happening.

“I’m sorry it had to be the way it was,” Spy said, in an inauthentic tone, “But, I had to leave and take care of the bullshit your brother pulled. And when you mess with people in the mob, the mob sends people after you. I had to keep a low profile, and our plans to get married and move out of the city were shattered. I could not share my name with her, nor even pass it down to you.”

“You’re name…” Scout said, without really thinking about what he was saying.

He was thinking about the concept. Spy had a name once did he not? And why could he not remember something like that? That seemed like something he should have been aware of from when he was thirteen.

“Yes, I have one of those, remember?” the Spy said a touch snidely.

Drake’s voice softened, “I…I don’t remember…your name.”

The Spy looked surprised for a moment, then irritated, “Antoine.”

“Antoine?” memory hit him like a ball to the face, “Anty!” He exclaimed, as the name clicked in his mind.

The French name was unique, given his family was mostly of Portuguese and Mexican descent. Scout was one of the whitest among them, following his mother, and perhaps his father after all. Staring at Anty, he realized how much he did not remember of his childhood, as short as their time together had been. How many times did they go get ice cream together? How many times did they sit under the stars and say little nonsensical things? How many times did he come to try and shake his mother’s ‘ _boyfriend_ ’ out of the stupor that trying to file taxes had put him in?

“Ma used to call you Anty!” he exclaimed, his voice choking up in his throat. It hurt a bit, but it felt good to remember Spy’s name, regardless if it was real or not.

“My name is Antoine Leroy,” Spy nodded, “And I never liked that nickname, but I never had the heart to tell your mother.”

Drake started laughing, “Leroy?”

“Yes,” Spy gave him a curt nod.

“Leroy? That’s a stupider name than Anty!” Drake laughed.

“Come again, boy?” Spy asked, with warning in his tone.

Drake’s laughter died down, “N-nothing. Never mind.”

“It was the name we were going to put on your birth certificate after I retired,” he explained, “We were going to change your name, when it was safe to do so.”

“Oh…” Drake blinked as realization hit him. He decided to keep lightening the mood with jokes. “Well, I dodged a bullet there, didn’t I?”

Spy rolled his eyes, but he started laughing too. It seemed he could at least share a little humor in their situation. They laughed together over the nonsense that was their shared history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this feels like such a wind down. Everything is resolved. Or is it?  
> I MIGHT put this story on a short hiatus and write a bunch of chapters to publish together later.  
> It'll basically be a part 2. Stuff that is happening much later. We will see how my inspiration for writing the next few chapters goes.  
> Let me know if you see any mistakes, typos, or just want to leave a critical thought. Any thought would be nice anyways.


	15. Old Maurizio, an Amico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio goes looking for a target and finds an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve!py w  
> Happy Hannukah! Happy holidays! Haphatever you celebrate! Even if you celebrate nothing at all... Happy that!

Maurizio roused from a dream about a dress and a woman on a balcony in Sicily. He looked around hazily, feeling so confused and bewildered by the world around him. He did not remember how he got here. He did not even know where he was for that matter.

He sat up suddenly as revelation struck him. That was when a Medic appeared in his vision. Another one was pressing a hand to his chest, forcing him back down onto the table, but the one he could see was at least talking to him. “Please lay down, you’ve taken major injuries that we are trying to tend to,” the man insisted.

He took solace in the man’s words and laid down. He stared up at the ceiling past a light hanging over him. How could he take solace anymore though? How could he call himself a loving person? How could he be who he was when he so brutally and easily murdered the man he loved?

He put a hand to his mouth as he started to weep. Bleu was dead, left in the snow to rot away slowly. There was no way Maurizio was going up there, in the coldest time of the year, to find his body and bury him properly. He probably would not find him again anyways. By now, the snow had covered him.

He let the sobs wrack his body and the tears stream down the sides of his mask. He had been sending people to respawn for decades. He had been pretending to be a mercenary and a killer for all of this time. And for a while, Bleu made all of that okay.

Now his every ounce of love was bringing his heart into a cold, solid, rocky place where depression sets in. The liquid made his vision bleary as he gazed at the ceiling, wondering how he would ever be who he used to be. How could he move on from this murder.

Granted, at the time he did this, he was concussed and out of his mind. It probably felt, if he was honest with himself, like Bleu would simply respawn and everything would be okay. It felt like they were having another spat and the BLU Spy just needed to go have a time out to think about what he had done.

That was all a lie. It was all a lie he had subconsciously thought up while he was in that state of near-unconsciousness. And nothing would ever make it okay.

It only got worse the more he thought about it. It did not matter if they were over. It did not matter if Bleu annoyed him. It did not matter if Bleu did a shit ton of horrible things, or if he had done a shit ton of horrible things. How could he go back, when he had killed the last beautiful thing in his life?

Bleu’s face, outside of the mask, came to mind. He closed his eyes and pictured it. He was smiling at him, fondly asking for a kiss. And then more tears streaked down his mask.

“Is something wrong?” a Medic asked, “Are you in pain.”

“Yes, but you can’t fix it,” Maurizio said, covering his face with his hands as he continued to sob.

They did not push any further. They were mercenaries just as much as he was, they were not going to baby him for his feelings. As long as he was not dying, they did not care.

He laid there for what must have been hours. Soon, he could no longer cry, his eyes too dry and sore and his throat too dry and full of that painful lump. He wanted to sulk for the rest of his life, thinking about the man he loved and how he was dead because of him. Only, he was starting to wish to make his life much shorter.

 

Pennsylvania, 2006

RED suit situated in a nice and orderly manner and poisoned pin in place on his tie, Maurizio sat at the café, waiting for his target. This certainly was not what he had in mind when Mann Co promised him travel time for his work as a handler. Of course, he stupidly did not read the fine print about the arrangements of travel, seeing as they had to be convenient for Mann Co and were often business trips, rather than vacation.

He shifted uneasily in his seat. He was tired of waiting. He was always waiting on people. He did not like it anymore. The initial power to manipulate his newly appointed team had been great, up until the point that he realized that it was also a harsh burden to uphold.

He was working most often at a base down in Texas. Given his nature, he passed easily for a native Spanish speaker, and had fooled both teams, including the enemy Spy, into believing he was some Spanish elite from South Mexico. It was close to home for him, but far enough off that it did not remind him too much of the old days.

Not a day went by that he did not think about that old base though. Not the one up in the mountains, but the one down in the desert. He kind of missed the color of the dirt, the smell of it all, and the way the sun radiated off of those brilliant hues. Sometimes he would think about asking Mann Co to send him there, but then he would chicken out, not wanting to give them any ideas about it.

He was shaken from his thoughts the moment his target entered the vicinity. He frowned when he realized that his target was not alone though. The old RED Engineer still wore old blue overalls, though these looked more faded and worn from working. He no longer wore his gear around, favoring instead a ball cap that displayed his favorite football team. He had even ditched all of the old uniform, donning a drab old work shirt and a set of cowboy boots that looked like they had never seen polish from the day they were bought.

His partner was a tall and husky man. He had put on quite a bit of weight from when Maurizio remembered him last, but the old Medic from the mountain base was all too familiar. He was not sporting his usual formal attire, which almost threw Maurizio for a loop. Still, he had a button up with the sleeves rolled up, and that was enough cue to the man’s personality as anything. He seemed to be blending in well too, wearing drab blue jeans over lace up work boots.

This was not a chance meeting, not by a long shot. Dexter Dooley was supposed to be coming to the café to meet with Miss Pauling about settling old debts. The ruse was that Pauling was supposed to be telling him how she could get him out of those debts. A favor here and a favor there, he had easily lied over the phone.

Now though, he could see the man was well prepared. The Medic was not one equipped with weapons, especially now in a public place where Dooley _might_ be carrying a hidden gun. However, he was much bigger than Maurizio, and with his years of practice, could probably break him. He would have to be extremely careful of his words and his actions, and plan a whole new escape route.

He shifted in his seat again, putting on a posture and air that he was indeed a woman in a skirt. He kept his gestures simple, but more dramatic than a man would make. He glanced at a watch, then dramatically looking at them, hoping to catch their attentions.

He watched them turn, and then head towards him. Dooley toddled, while Maxwell Fischer followed along behind him, shortening his own stride. Dooley was wearing some kind of warning snarl, while the Medic held an air of importance and danger. Maurizio almost told him not to worry because he looked menacing enough as he stood there.

“We here to do business?” Dooley demanded.

“Have a seat,” Maurizio gestured to the seat across from him, “We’ll get started.

Completely fooled, Dooley sat on the bench across from him. To his dismay, Maxwell slid in after him, meaning that he was closer to the edge and would have an easy way out if Maurizio ran. Being the faster of the two, Maurizio was counting on this as being one more fault in his plan. Of course, the two of them might well have planned it out this way, making it easier for them to defend themselves should Pauling try anything.

Much to his dismay, Maurizio was alone on this mission. These missions required stealth and technique. They did not require any other mercenary tagging along. Sure, once in a while, he would be assigned a Sniper, who would be given the orders for the final shot, with the Spy being the bait or the distraction. But, this was one of those solo missions that put him by his lonesome.

The heavy sigh that came from across the table took him out of his panicked thoughts. He blinked at Dooley, as if taking him in for the first time. He was not wearing goggles, so it was easy enough to see just how tired he was. It was the first real thing that Maurizio had seen to remind him of the desert down in Mexico.

 

Mexico, 1989

“And that’s how you lay ‘em out, boys!” Dooley snickered from across the table designated for playing pool.

“Ah, come on, Dooley!” Jack threw his hand of cards onto the table with a scoff, before grabbing his imported Scottish whiskey.

“Don’t be a sore loser, boy,” Dooley giggled.

“How come we ain’t seen you win a single round, Spy?” the Jersey boy asked, taunting the Italian Spy.

Maurizio simply chuckled, shaking his head at the Scout, “I am not really playing.”

He laid his hand upon the table and Dooley gave out a low whistle. There were a few whispers around the table as they realized that he had nearly won the hand – nearly.

“Good round,” Maurizio smiled at the Engineer, “Perhaps another?”

“I don’t wanna play you broke, boy,” Dooley clapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the game, but I should call it quits and turn in, before my luck runs out!”

“Ah come on!” Scout exclaimed.

“I ain’t so dumb that I don’t know when to tip my hat and bow out, boys,” the Texan gave a low chuckle as he pocketed his winnings.

He turned to smile at Maurizio. There was something charming about the Texan, like a man who knew things about people that they did not want him knowing. It creeped him out from time to time, but he never let it show. He never let on that he was intimidated in any way, especially since the man was a good hearted creature, with a heartwarming smile. He figured Dooley probably could not do any wrong.

“Perhaps next time you’ll actually play for real,” Dooley chuckled. Maurizio laughed with him, watching him leave the poker table.

When Maurizio went outside for a late night stroll, he had not been expecting the short little American. He gave Maurizio a twisted little smile, something meant to be pleasant, but in the light of the moon and stars, it was a little too eerie. He just seemed too pleasant for the mercenary life.

Maurizio quickly pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, making up an excuse for his presence outside. Nobody knew about him and the BLU Spy. That was the way it was supposed to stay.

“You got an extra light, son?” Dooley asked.

Maurizio pulled his pack out and offered one to him. Then he held his lighter, silently giving Dooley an excuse to be out there too. That made him wonder what exactly he was doing out there. It tickled at him as being suspicious, and he grew wary of his teammate, as he had with many teammates in the past. Maybe this was Bleu messing with him.

“Thank you,” the Texan smiled again, “I done kicked the habit years ago but…ya know…stress and the like. This job ain’t for the faint of heart, is it? Guess I didn’t take that seriously, myself.” He gave Maurizio that crooked smile.

“Two? Three months?” Maurizio blew out smoke, slipping easily into the air of their conversation, “You’ve done fairly well so far. Most crack within three weeks if they cannot stay.”

“Yea well…this ain’t all it is cracked up to be, it seems,” Dooley sighed, “Just wanted somethin’ to pay for my contraptions.”

“Your buildings?” Maurizio inquired, keeping a distant air to him.

Dooley blushed, tilting his head so his hardhat fell forward, “You wouldn’t tell nobody would you, Spy?”

Maurizio glanced around, wary of the enemy team’s Spy. He was probably around, waiting for the Engineer to leave. He did not feel good about having somebody open up under false pretenses, if he knew that an enemy could be around.

“Tell anybody about what?” he inquired, his eyes still searching for signs of life.

“Truth about me coming here,” he said, with a shy little smile. He was shifting now, uneasy as Maurizio’s gaze shifted back to him.

Maurizio was not sure what the American was talking about, so he decided to inquire, “I am not sure I follow.”

He lost the smile, tilting his head up to look Maurizio in the eye, meeting his gaze through the dark lenses of his goggles. There was a curious light in his eyes, almost childlike in essence. He seemed so confused that the Spy did not know what he was talking about. Given he was the Spy, and probably should have been poking around everybody’s business like Bleu would.

“But, you…I thought that you…” the man hesitated with every word, “You’re a Spy, ain’t you?”

He decided to play along, putting on a tone of sarcasm. He acted dramatically, even putting finger quotations around his words, “I assure you Dooley, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Dooley sighed with relief and smiled. American sarcasm, a broken form of what would otherwise be a smooth language. He decided not to take the ignorance for granted and smiled back at the American, letting him believe that he was pretending when he said that he knew nothing.

Dooley tucked the cigarette between his teeth and leaned against a wall. He dug a grubby, work worn hand into a pocket, not the one with the winnings though. When he pulled his hand out, he had a locket chain wrapped around his hand, the heart shape dangling from his grip.

“It’s hard to forget things…but…while I don’t wanna talk or even think about it, I wanted to bring it up so you would understand that I am not judging,” he spoke slowly, almost carefully. It made Maurizio feel wary. “I ain’t gonna judge. And I ain’t gonna tell nobody. I don’t mind what you have. I mean, many men would be lucky to have what you have.”

He paused, looking to Maurizio for a response. The Spy just felt absolutely and utterly confused. What was he talking about now? What was he not cued in on because of not knowing what he was talking about before. He kicked himself mentally for getting himself tangled in all of this.

“I’m talking of course about the BLU Spy,” the Engineer inclined his hat, giving him a better view of his face. He took his goggles and pulled them down, letting the strap dangle them around his neck.

Their eyes met and Maurizio felt more panicked than before. He knew? He knew about Bleu? How much did he know? What would he do with that information?

“I know Réne well enough, and I ain’t in a place of judgment,” he explained carefully.

He looked down to cup his locket, opening it to look at the picture inside. He did not show it to him though, just kept the view of the picture to himself, until he clipped it shut and grasped it tightly. He looked back up at him, eyes shining with a thin sheen of tears that were forming.

“I ain’t gonna tell nobody, Spy,” he said, “I like you. I think you’re a good man. And I wouldn’t want a nice guy like you getting into trouble for the wrong reasons. So I ain’t tellin’ nobody.” He had this tone of determination, as if he was being put on the spot about his secrecy. Perhaps he knew the questions in Maurizio’s mind all along. “I know what it’s like to want, but you get to have. That’s special,” he said, “And if nothin’ else, I’d like us to be friends. But…not over this of course. That’s why I brought up the other thing.” He carefully stowed away his locket.

“I will keep that in mind,” he tossed the last bit of his cigarette onto the ground and stamped it into the earth. He stared at it for a few moments, contemplating what he might do next, be it share this information with Bleu or find out more info for himself. Finally, he looked to the Engineer and said, “I think we’ll get along just fine, amico.”

 

The Café in Pennsylvania, 2006

Maurizio shook away the memories, listening to the Texan drawl with interest. He could barely believe he was hearing this man’s voice again. It felt like heaven. It felt like a little slice of home, the good piece of that old desert they left behind in Mexico.

“I am gonna level with you, Miss Pauling,” Dooley said, with a miserable tone. He looked so haggard and downtrodden. “I’m tired of running. I can’t handle all of that…bullshit I went through as a handler. But, I cannot keep running. I’m old and I’m tired. My body ain’t caught up with my age. And I cannot really land myself a job with no usable identity.”

His eyes were on the table, where his hands were folded and his thumbs were twiddling. He looked so depressed that it hurt Maurizio’s heart. He forgot how much he liked Dooley’s character. He forgot how much he liked the shy little Texan and how friendly he was. He was like himself, but in an down south, rounded out, American type of way.

“I don’t want no special position,” Dooley told him, tiredly, “I don’t want no perks. I don’t want you to send me on no missions either. If what it takes for a bit of rest is to fall back in line and pretend I don’t even know all of this exists, then that’s fine. I’ll pretend until the cows come home.”

Maurizio was silent as he listened to what sounded like the words of a tired man who had given up. These were words of defeat. He might have come prepared to defend himself, but he was already raising the white flag.

Maurizio frowned, turning his gaze to the table as he thought about this. They had been long friends, almost since the Engineer joined his team in Mexico, back in 1989. Still, he had a job to do and if he did not do it he lost his perks. At the same time though, he was not a man for perks when there were friends to be had. It was not like he was Bleu, he thought himself better when it came to choosing targets to kill.

“I have a confession to make,” Maurizio said, Pauling’s voice slipping from his throat.

“Before we move on, I would like to add my own piece,” Maxwell interrupted. The Engineer gave him the ‘go ahead’ with a gesture of his hand. Maxwell nodded to him, “There…is no need to worry about us spreading information, Miss Pauling. We are men of our words. We will keep silent about everything, all the way down to the idiocy that exists in this nonsense generation.”

“Now, don’t be so harsh,” Dooley insisted, “Ain’t like people are that bad. They just have a different way of looking at things. Besides, it ain’t our world anymore.” Dooley sounded like he was trying to calm down a friend.

“I am no expert with people, but I understand logic well enough,” Maxwell offered.

The Spy let slip a frustrated cough, clearing his throat and getting their attentions. They must not have noticed how much it had slipped into a deeper tone. He took a breath as their gazes turned back to him, eager to hear that Miss Pauling would saddle them into new jobs with Mann Co.

“I have a confession to make,” Maurizio sighed, unable to meet their eyes.

“Please tell me ya didn’t go making promises you can’t keep,” Dooley pleaded.

“We need this, Pauling,” Maxwell knocked his knuckles on the table.

“Look,” Maurizio raised his hands, “I am not Pauling. None of this was Pauling.”

“Spy!” Dooley spat.

“Traitor!” Maxwell growled, rising to full height.

“Now, wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Maurizio pleaded, “I’m telling you for a reason!”

He was giving up. This mission was a dud. It never should have started in the first place. While he was first fueled by memories of Dooley turning on the team and even trying to kill them at one point, he could no longer go through with this. So he decided that he was going to flip this mission into something of a rescue and a warning.

“I came here to warn you,” he lied.

“Warn us about what?” Dooley motioned for Max to sit down, who was attracting many eyes around the café. He complied, not wanting to be stared at, while they were likely getting aid.

Maurizio leaned over the table and lowered his voice, “Outside of this café are two Snipers. One is posted to watch each door. Their orders are not to kill on sight, but when the view is clear. About two blocks away are some vehicles with waiting mercenaries to collect on your heads.”

“And you’re here,” Dooley noted, his eyes narrowing, “That means you had something to do with this.”

He sighed, “Admittedly, I did have something to do with this. But, that’s not what the plan is!”

“What _is_ the plan?” Maxwell asked.

“I would like to know too,” Dooley added.

Maurizio quickly searched his memory and came up with a plan, “I have a car that is just a few blocks from here. I’ll take us to a safe house just forty or so minutes from here. There, they won’t know where you are and I’ll contact the real Miss Pauling.”

“Wait a minute,” Dooley held up a hand, forcing him to stop the planning, “How do we know that we can trust you?”

“Yes, it is quite concerning,” Maxwell eyed Maurizio warily, seeing only the Pauling disguise, “You’re a Spy _aren’t_ you?”

“I don’t like the idea of putting my trust in a Spy,” the Texan added, with a dark warning tone.

Maurizio thought back to that memory in Mexico. After the talk with Dooley, he had gone off to find the files on the RED Engineer, only to find that Bleu had been listening and had fished them out himself. In fact, the man already knew about he files he was looking for, long before the talk.

Dooley had been attacked before joining Mann Co. His heart had been in a good place, but when he asked a man on a date, those he held dearest had turned on him. The pictures showed him brutally beaten and bruised, discolored in the face and every other part of skin that the picture showed. Those were the initial pictures in his employee file, the face he had to show to his new employers when he ran to escape from the bigotry. He had escaped with his life and nothing else, and he had shown trust in Maurizio that night when they talked, as well as every day after that.

He leaned a little more towards the Texan. He dropped the American woman accent, speaking in his own voice, “Have I ever given you reason to stop trusting me, amico?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have been sitting on this chapter for a while. I wanted to be sure I wanted to include certain elements. I decided that since it is Christmas eve, I should post something. Happy Holidays. I hope you enjoy!


	16. Disturbance at a Cemetary; Disprespect for the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antoine and Drake visit a mutual love's cemetary together. It is the first time since her death that they choose to go together.  
> Their visit is interrupted by a familiar face, and a disturbing attack that has put the mercenaries in a dire situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this chapter on Christmas, but due to computer complications related to the blue screen of death I was unable to do that. I hope you guys have a lovely holiday season (it is probably Christmas for you on the day I submit this) and have a Happy New Year!

Boston, 2006

Antoine tucked his mitten covered hands into his pockets. Beside him, Drake did something similar, staring quite bleakly at the tombstone. Engraved on it was the name _Roxanne Deliro_.

They had both been here so many times over the years. Yet, this was the first time they ever came here together. Finally, Antoine had his boy. He was not quite a boy, and definitely was not little, but he had him nonetheless. Standing there beside him, he wished he could say something to Drake’s mother. He wished he could tell her so many things, and explain his excitement that the two of them were finally together as a family, just like she wanted.

The two of them were silent, having lost words years ago. Antoine laid an arm over Scout’s shoulders, hoping to comfort him. He took his mother’s death the hardest of all, having been so close to her when he was young.

All the while, Antoine was struggling not to picture his last memories of her in the hospital. He tried not to remember her aging face and the pain she expressed, while he remained relatively young and spry. He did not want to remember outliving his love.

Drake raised his head and smiled at Antoine, a tear forming in his eye. He seemed better though, given the small smile on his face. It seemed like having somebody to share the pain of loss helped him.

He patted the younger man’s shoulder and they turned to leave. Antoine suddenly stopped, which caused Drake to stop and look at him. He was staring at a small figure by the fog ridden gate. She pushed it open, moving as if a ghost through the cold mist.

“Whacha lookin’ at?” Drake looked and was just as surprised at the sight.

It was no ghost though, no spirit returning to see them. It was just Miss Pauling. She had dressed in a different attire than usual, sporting winter wear, with a long dress and mittens.

“Sorry to disturb you, boys,” she said, blowing into her mittens to warm her hands.

Antoine narrowed his eyes with a frown, “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

“Was I…interrupting something?” she motioned to Antoine’s arm on Drake’s shoulder.

Drake immediately shook off Antoine’s arm, ducking away from him. Antoine said nothing as he tucked his hand into his pocket. So much for the father son moment of bonding over a dead mother’s grave. He turned his frown to Miss Pauling.

“N-no! No! We weren’t doing anything!” Drake insisted.

Antoine rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Miss Pauling knew that the boy’s mother’s grave was here, “Come on then. We don’t have all day.” He was not about to be pulled around by this young woman’s fantasies of being able to juke professional Spies.

She stepped towards the Spy, “I need your help.”

“Help? Uh…we can help!” Drake said, stepping back towards Antoine to get into her focus of attention. The boy always did have a hard crush on the one woman who was a constant in their lives.

“Mann Co is falling apart,” she explained, “The investments are becoming factions. The bases are becoming centers of control. I don’t know for sure what is in the making, but something is bad is about to happen. This is a grave situation and the more people we have on our side, the better the chances that we can stop what’s bound to come.”

“Something bad is always happening,” Antoine said, snidely.

“This is different,” she insisted.

“Eh…how bad is it?” Drake asked, curiously.

“Very,” she sighed, “This show…” Her pleading eyes turned the Antoine, as if she could get him to do something for her. “This show is not what it used to be,” she explained, “And this is not what I nor the Administrator stood for.”

Antoine let out a snide chuckle, “The Administrator stood for something? I thought she was always out for money, or Australium, or revenge. It was always something with her.”

“The show has changed,” Miss Pauling put some emphasis into her voice, “And it’s going to keep on changing if it is not stopped.”

“Things change,” Antoine rolled his eyes, “People move on to new things. I thought that was what you wanted when you started pairing multiple teams.”

“That’s not what I mean, Spy,” she stated firmly.

“Then what _do_ you mean?” Drake interjected.

“The show’s about to be canceled,” she told them, in a worried voice.

“Good,” Antoine stated.

“Good?” Drake scoffed, “We’ll lose our jobs! Our livelihoods!”

“It’s about to become war,” she said, her voice trembling a little.

“Come again?” Antoine raised an eyebrow, “What was that?”

“This is no longer about money or land,” she said, “There is a power trip happening. There are different forces at work. If things keep going as they are, then I predict a war will break out by 2016.”

Antoine was completely unamused. Drake was sputtering with confusion though. All in all, this seemed like a waste of his time, so he started towards the gate.

“Spy! No wait!” she called after him, “I’m serious!”

“I am sure you are,” he said, pushing the gate open.

“Spy, people are going to die,” she said, with concern in her tone.

“So we die every day for our work,” Spy offered.

“I mean for real,” she pressed, “Of that previous set up of thirty six people, twelve of them are dead. Seven more are on the chopping block.”

“Why should I care?” Antoine asked, as she and Drake followed him towards his new car.

“Because, you’re on the list!” she exclaimed.

He paused, “On the list?”

“Well, both you and Scout are,” she threw a thumb at Drake, “You two will be dead by the end of this month.”

“And you expect us to help you? How?” Antoine demanded.

“By dropping off the radar to join me,” she said.

“This seems pretty suspicious,” Drake said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Pretty sketchy.”

Antoine rolled his eyes as he turned to face Pauling squarely, “And why would either of us do that?”

Pauling looked back and forth between the two of them, “Did you not just hear me?”

“I heard you clearly,” Antoine replied, “What I am not hearing is why you are still bothering me with this.”

Unable to appeal to the Spy, Pauling turned to the Scout, “Scout, you have to be concerned about this, right?”

“Why? Spy doesn’t seem too concerned about it,” Drake shrugged off her words, following Antoine’s lead with a nod.

“If you would just-” she was cut off by a rifle shot. It must have missed its target, because all three of them were still standing.

Antoine looked to see that Drake had leaped out of the way, leaving a mark in the concrete the fencing was attached to. He looked to Antoine, who was staring at him, agape at what had just happened. Antoine was on a global respawn that reached everywhere, but Drake was not.

“Call your Sniper off,” he leaped forward, grabbing Pauling’s wrist and then Drake’s. He pulled them both down to hide behind the car. Wrapping an arm around Pauling, he pressed a gun to her head.

“That’s not my Sniper!” she exclaimed, “I didn’t tell anybody where I would be! Nobody knows I am here!”

“That’s not a very smart thing to say to a man who’s got a gun to your head,” he informed her, sternly. He peered around the front bumper, hoping to get a look at the attacker, but the Sniper immediately shot, catching the front of his new car. He immediately pulled away and growled about the damage on his new car.

“I’m telling you spy! I didn’t bring anybody here!” Pauling roared over thew new barrage of bullets.

“Yea? Well what do ya call that?” Drake shouted, motioning over the hood of the car towards the Sniper. He yelped as a bullet came so close to his arm that he felt the heat.

“Scout Stay down!” Antoine shouted.

“How’re we getting out of this, Spy?” Drake asked, almost pleading for an answer.

“We throw Miss Pauling under the bus,” he said, pulling the woman towards the back of the car. He was getting ready to push her into the open, in hopes that the Sniper might take the distraction.

“No! Wait a minute, Spy!” Pauling pleaded.

“Spy don’t!” Drake exclaimed.

“She may not have intended this, but she brought the Sniper _to us_ ,” Antoine explained, keeping a cool head and emotional distance from the situation, as experience told him to, “Get in the car. When I say go, drive.”

“Spy, no!” Drake grabbed his arm.

Antoine looked at his boy and regretted it. Very few things could sway him from doing his job. The boy did not even have an effect on him all these years. But, ever since they had become close, it had an effect on him that he was not prepared to handle. He sighed with exasperation, he raised his gun, preparing to fire.

“You two get into the car, when I say drive, you hit the gas,” he ordered. As the car doors opened, he rose high enough to reach his arms over the car and fire a few shots at the Sniper. A shot came very close to his face, and another landed in his shoulder.

He cried out in pain, grabbing the back door and throwing it open. He was just jumping in when he shouted, “Drive!”

As he landed on the seat, the car jolted forward, slamming the door shut and sending them barreling down the road. Another shot followed them, but it ricocheted off of the bumper. They escaped with their lives, and hopefully were not about to be chased.

Antoine raised his head to look around, searching for signs of following vehicles. He would not take the chance of somebody sneaking up on them or giving chase. His eyes scanned the area, but there was not yet a clear distinction for any followers.

“Spy, I swear, I did not know,” Pauling said, turning in the driver’s seat.

“Just keep driving,” Antoine ordered, holding his gun at the ready, in case somebody tried to drive by with their guns prepped. He imagined that would not go well, if they were prepared, given that he just had the revolver, and they would likely have semi-automatic weapons.

“Oh my God,” Drake breathed, “Oh my God.”

“Calm down Scout,” Antoine patted the boy’s shoulder.

Drake’s head had just turned when Antoine noticed the big truck barreling towards them. Miss Pauling was looking another direction to make sure her path was clear. That truck was supposed to be stopped, or at least slowing down. It had yet to change speed, in fact he was pretty sure that it was increasing its speed. And considering the RED logo on it, he was definitely certain of what he was aiming for.

“Drive! Drive! Drive faster!” he shouted, immediately aiming the gun for Pauling’s head.

Frightened, she slammed a foot on the gas, no longer worried about cross traffic. The truck did not stop and just managed to clip the trunk of the car. It was not much, but with the size and speed of the other vehicle, it sent them spinning out of control. Miss Pauling was screaming loudly and Drake was howling.

Antoine took a deep breath, relaxing his body as he was thrown about the car in a tight spin. The spin did not last long, after all, and they were all safe. Well, safe being relative, as both of the other passengers in the car seemed to have at least suffered some concussions. There was some blood on Miss Pauling’s hair and Drake was hissing as he held his arm.

Suddenly, a vehicle screeched to a halt beside them. Antoine looked around, spotting several men coming from the large truck, which had stopped a ways away. From the vehicle that stopped beside them hopped a Spy and a Soldier, both charging the car.

Antoine looked on, confused as to why his body was not moving, or responding in any way to this situation. First the Spy pulled Drake from the car, then the Soldier was pulling Antoine. Something seemed oddly familiar about this man, but he could not draw similarities in his dazed mindset.

He was flung over a shoulder, and then flopped into the seat of a vehicle. Miss Pauling and Drake were placed more gently in the seat next to him, groaning in pain. The two mercenaries that took them got into the front seats and took off without a single word, just an exchanged glance between them.

“S…Soldier?” Drake leaned forward to peer at the man in the passenger seat, “Is that- It is you!”

The Soldier smiled and tilted his helmet back, revealing that he was the BLU Soldier. It felt odd, but Antoine was relieved to see a familiar face. It was definitely strange to see this man’s face again.

The Soldier gave Drake a big grin, “How’ve you been, son?”

“I’ve uh…I’ve seen better days, you know? Just got hit in the head with like…I dunno, ten tons of metal? I think I need brain surgery for that.”

“You don’t need brain surgery for a concussion, Scout,” Antoine recognized Hugh’s voice anywhere. It was definitely a relief knowing that the BLU Spy was behind the wheel. It was somehow comforting to know that his old mentor was in control of the situation.

“Spy, we’ve got a problem,” Miss Pauling said, pressing a handkerchief to her head, in an attempt to stop some bleeding.

“I’ll say!” the Soldier said, his voice getting big and mean, “We didn’t even get to kick their asses!”

“I’d like to shove a bat in their faces!” Drake agreed.

“That is not something we need to do right now,” Hugh intervened.

“Spy, we were attacked at the cemetery by a Sniper,” she said, leaning forward in her seat to try and get between Drake and the Soldier, in order to talk to Hugh.

“Oui, I noted that scenario,” the BLU Spy noted.

“Came alone?” Antoine barely managed to say, throwing Pauling an accusatory glare.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Pauling insisted, turning to the RED Spy, who was barely regaining feeling in his hands. They were tingling, slowly growing to a burning sensation.

“We have simply been tailing her,” Hugh put in, “She did not know we would be here.”

“We were real sneaky!” the Soldier laughed proudly.

“Oh hey, I was starting to think we’d never see you guys again, either,” Drake commented, giving the Soldier a small punch on the Soldier, “The hell did you guys go?”

“I tried retirement!” Soldier explained, with a delighted grin, “It was the biggest waste of time in the history of America!”

“Even bigger than the conspirator investigations on communist allies by the CIA?” Hugh inquired.

“You shush about the commies!” the Soldier growled.

Drake chuckled, “Are you coming back to Builders League United then?”

“No,” Hugh interjected, “Mann Co is in shambles. We’ll leave it to burn in hell.”

Antoine grunted his agreement with that statement, though it was not much. He looked around and out the windows, noting at how fast they were moving. It made him feel dizzy. He felt so dizzy that he started to pass out.

“Spy? Spy no! Antoine!” Drake’s voice faded as the darkness claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to come out and say it. In the original draft of this story, Antoine was going to die permanently. This chapter was going to be Drake visiting the graves of his parents and asking forgiveness for his haughty stupidity all of those years ago. It was supposed to be rounded out with Andrew and Hugh visiting him to offer him emotional support, then the story would end on a bitter note.  
> But, this story has changed and we have a whole new arc to complete! Hope you enjoy!


	17. Regroup and Fetch a Medigun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a group together, but now there are several injuries. Given Miss Pauling has a concussion, she cannot take the lead. So it is up to Hugh, Drake and Andrew to fetch a medigun to keep their group alive. Meanwhile, Andrew and Drake catch up for old time's sake.

“Spy? Spy no! Antoine!” the BLU Scout practically threw himself across Miss Pauling to try and help the RED Spy across from him.

A glance in the rear view mirror showed that Antoine had passed out. He would have guessed exhaustion if he had not seen him on his feet looking just fine earlier. In the car though, he had barely moved, barely spoken. He even grunted at one point, something that seemed like a moment of vulgarity coming from the sophisticated Spy. The best explanation Hugh could think of was that his concussion was more severe than the others’ injuries.

“We need to get him to a doctor,” Hugh said, with a growl.

“No shit,” Drake scrambled over Pauling, pushing her into the window seat he had been in. He did not bother with seat belts, as he lifted Antoine’s head and shook him, trying to rouse him from his slumber.

“He is not going to wake up,” Hugh said, turning his attention back to the road, “Likely a severe concussion. He will need hours under a medigun before he is able to stand upright again.”

“Dammit,” Miss Pauling breathed.

“It is not one less Spy in the army, Miss Pauling,” he tried to assure her, “Just a minor setback.”

“We don’t have time for setbacks!” Miss Pauling exclaimed, “I have no idea how fast this is going. This is getting out of control!”

“Hmm…they are already trying to take out possible threats,” Andrew noted, rubbing his chin.

With the helmet falling low over his face, it was hard to see his expression. Hugh figured the Soldier must have been thinking hard to come up with that thought. Either way he felt a bit of pride for him. He was getting better.

“If we wait any longer, we will lose all chances of comebacks, by the time they strike!” she said, with despair on her voice.

“Look, Miss Pauling,” the Scout turned to her, “I’d love to help you…really I would. But I got my dad to worry about.”

“Your dad?” Andrew turned in his seat, with piqued curiosity, “I thought your dad ran off a long time ago.”

“Yea uh…about that…” the Scout sounded a bit awkward about it, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling nervously.

Knowing the boy’s real history, Hugh waved off the subject, “It doesn’t matter. We’ll have to get him to a doctor immediately. And at this point, his best chance is with a Mann Co Medic, somebody with knowhow _and_ equipment.”

“Er…uh…Spy? You know an awful lot about taking care of people, right?” Scout put a hand on the seat as he leaned around it to talk to him.

“No, I just know how to assess the situation,” he never took his eyes off of the road. He did not need to see the boy’s face, as it would likely bring him a great amount of curiosity.

He remembered Drake as the big news about Antoine’s life. He was that baby boy, that special kid, the son he shared with his woman back in America. He had not really thought about it too deeply, but seeing him now caring so much about his father was a bit strange. He was not sure if he found it heartwarming, per say. It was certainly off to see his old teammate caring so much about an enemy he used to hate relentlessly for his relationship with his mother. Perhaps the two finally had a heart to heart, he pondered.

“We will find a Medic!” Andrew pumped his fist excitedly. He had been burning for somebody to fight since they joined Miss Pauling. It had been too long since he had a rocket launcher and a shovel in his hands.

For Hugh, the thrill was already beginning, with the exciting life-or-death situations and the chases being given. Every turn was something terrifying, but fantastic. He just wished he could give Andrew the same thrills he was getting from his current work.

“If we go to any base, they are going to know we are there,” she said, “We need to have somebody who is not in Mann Co’s employ, even if that means no equipment.”

“Who do you suggest?” Hugh asked.

“Do you know of somebody?” Scout asked.

She shook her head to Scout, “No I-” She was cut off as a phone started ringing in her handbag. She looked at it with an astounded expression, before opening the purse and answering the phone. “Hello?”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio was so glad when Miss Pauling answered the phone, “Hello? Who is this?”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten my number _so soon_ , Miss Pauling!” he said, with a teasing voice. He kept his tone light and upbeat, not wanting anybody around her to know what he might be up to.

“Oh hey, Maurice!” she said, with a very chipper tone. That definitely meant that she was in a safe place to talk, but he wondered how safe it was.

“Maurice? That’s Maurice on the phone? Here! Let me talk to him!” he recognized the Scout’s voice, pulling from the phone as it became a bunch of noise.

He glanced over at the two men with him, seeing their impatience. Their frustration was written on their faces, staring at him, like he was supposed to hurry up. He gave them a smile and held up a finger, silently asking for a bit more time than he was allotted.

“Scout stop!” Pauling objected.

“Listen Miss Pauling, I need your assistance,” Maurice said, in a more sincere tone.

“I’m a bit tied up with a concussion myself,” she said, “And Scout’s arm looks broken.”

“No it’s not! It’s just a scratch!” Scout protested.

“Then why are you squirming when I go to touch it?” she asked.

“It hurts, okay!” Scout blurted.

“But it’s not broken?” she asked him in a deadpan voice.

“No! I mean, I have had broken bones before. This one ain’t broken,” Scout replied.

“Miss Pauling, I don’t have all day,” Maurice interjected, his fingers starting to thrum against his knee with nervous tension growing on his end, “I have two mercenaries looking to meet with you.”

“Good! Stay with them!” she said, a bit too excitedly.

“No wait, I need you to meet with me!” Maurice protested.

“I have an unconscious Spy right now,” Miss Pauling argued, “I need to find a Medic. Unless you’ve got a Medic who can help me with a comatose Spy, then I need to let you go.”

He glanced over at the two men staring at him. He was so glad that the idea struck him, “You remember the name Maxwell Fischer?”

“Fischer?” she hummed for thought, “He was a Medic for RED, right? Where is he? He vanished.”

“He’s right here with me,” Maurice said, a bit cockily. Apparently too proud for the other two men, who were already pulling him out of his chair by the front of his coat.

“You snake! I shouldn’t have trusted you!” Dexter Dooley roared with anger, lifting him off his feet. He felt a rush of panic as the angriest look he had ever seen on the usually pleasant Texan’s face came an inch from his own face.

“You dummkopf!” Maxwell barked at him.

“She is going to know one way or another! Put me down, Dooley!” he raised his voice, trying not to become overwhelmed by the two men against him.

“Dooley? Dexter Dooley?” he heard Miss Pauling inquire, “Fischer was with Dooley the whole time?”

“Dooley?” the Soldier’s voice came over the phone, “How’s he doing?”

“Forget that guy! Remember? He tried to shoot us!” the Scout exclaimed.

“Maurice, I gotta go,” Miss Pauling said, about to hang up the phone.

Maurice needed to calm the two men in front of him, namely the hands-on Engineer. He licked his lips and thought fast, not wanting to lose the call, “Miss Pauling, put somebody else on the phone.”

“Who? Scout?” she asked.

He could tell that she was about to hand the phone over to Drake Deliro. As nice as the kid was, he was not the one he needed to talk to. “No no, the other voice I hear,” he insisted.

“Soldier?” she asked, putting the phone back to her ear.

“Sí, that’s the one,” he replied, handing the phone over to the Engineer.

The Engineer gave him a wary glare, one hand still holding the front of his suit jacket. He took the phone and put it to his ear. But, with the way he acted, one would have thought Maurice planted a bomb in the phone or something. What a ridiculous thought.

Only moments later, the Soldier’s voice boomed over the speaker of the phone, “Hello?” Immediately, Maurice watched as the man before him melted, his hand loosening, until it dropped.

“Er…howdy, partner,” the Engineer said, nervously.

“Engie? Hey it’s Engie!” the Soldier spoke loudly, “Where are you at? Where have you been?”

“I’m in South Dakota,” the Engineer answered, “Been um…tryin’ to go into retirement.”

“In South Dakota?” the Soldier sounded confused, “Odd place. I’m in Boston! Saving Scout and Pauling and a Spy!” Soldier sounded absolutely excited.

He took a mental note of where they were, raising a hand, “Might I ask a question.”

“What do you wanna ask?” Dooley asked.

“About where we can meet them in Massachusetts,” he answered.

Dooley nodded, “Solly. Mind giving us a location we could meet you at? It’s important.”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Andrew had no idea how, but several hours later, Maurice, Dooley and Maxwell Fischer all managed to meet them at the motel they were at. Hugh had given Scout a crude bandage for his arm and was trying to stop the bleeding from the cut on Miss Pauling’s head.

Andrew himself was trying to calm the Scout. It had been so long since he had seen the young man. He still looked like a boy though. A youth full of care and innocent wonder in his eyes.

Meeting with Scout reminded him of the good old days, back when they were a team. It was nice to remember the good times, even the ones that happened with bad things happening. They had had over a year of no wins against the REDs, wondering why they were still on the job, yet Andrew had so many fond memories of that time.

That was when he found a love for Spy. That was when he shook his crush on the Scout and formed a strong friendship with him. That was when, during his darker hours of not being with the Spy, his teammates tried to cheer him up and made a fourth of July party. Well, Scout and Spy did anyways.

That was when they had the least but the most amount of hope, he thought. Back when they were the underdogs, just trying to catch a break in the fight. Fighting back against RED with all of their might, combining their efforts as a true team.

When the three REDs arrived, they looked very different. The most notable for Andrew was the Engineer, whose overalls were not standard Mann Co attire, but your average denim trousers. He did not look anything like an Engineer who could put together a gun in thirty seconds or less, but rather like a farmer who had just left his cows behind in Pennsylvania.

“It’s good to see you, Solly,” the Engineer smiled at him sweetly, offering him a hand in greeting.

Never one to turn down a good friendship, he gave his hand in return. There was no point in suspecting him anymore. Way back when things went bad, the man was trying to kill…somebody? Well, he was not trying to kill anybody anymore. In fact, by his attire, he looked a far cry from a killer at all.

The Medic was much different too. His old enemy had a tired look in his eyes, like he did not sleep much at nights. He wore a turtleneck sweater, unlike his old waistcoat and labcoat, but he had the sleeves rolled up when he started working on patients. At least he still wore the same demeanor of a man of science, somebody who knew very well how to tend to the human body. Of course, that came with his frustration with patients who squirmed when he caused them pain.

Maurice’s change must have been the most subtle. Andrew did not even notice it at first. He still wore the same pleasant atmosphere, but something was off. At first, he thought it was because Réne was not around, as the BLU Spy tended to put him in good spirits. But, that could not be the answer.

He watched and listened as he talked to Miss Pauling. He was not really listening to _what_ he was saying, but rather how he was talking. It was almost like hearing somebody else. It was like listening to some other Spy be bad at their job. He sounded so **fake**.

Not much Andrew could do about that, as he was drawn away by Hugh. He smiled at the Spy, who had called the Scout with him too, “We need to go get a medigun.”

“Okay, uh…” Scout scratched his head, “Where are we gonna get that?”

“We’ll have to steal one,” Hugh answered.

“Okay, uh…one, we gotta go to where there is actually a medigun. Two, we gotta steal it from a bunch of guys who would kill us on sight,” Scout said, with an exasperated tone that said he did not believe they could pull it off.

Andrew slapped him on the Soldier, “Don’t worry about that son. We’ve got what we need to storm a base!” He was excited at the prospect of fighting other mercenaries again.

“I’m afraid this one requires stealth,” Hugh said with a frown.

“Oh,” Andrew looked at Hugh curiously. There was a strange look of disappointment on his face, though Andrew did not know why he would be upset at this, as stealth seemed to be something he was good at.

“And where are we gonna steal this from? It’s not like hospitals got that kind of tech lying around,” Scout went on.

“There is a base not far from here,” Hugh stated.

“What? Really?” Scout exclaimed.

“Yes, but it is heavily guarded,” he nodded, “This mission requires stealth, but I will require assistance…from both of you.”

“Alright! Let’s do this!” Scout said, nodding.

Hugh nodded with a smile and led the way to his car. When they climbed in, Andrew turned in his seat to talk to Scout, whilst Hugh drove. He was glad to see the kid, since it had been so long. They had so much to catch up on since last they had met.

Scout had the same idea, “So, what have you old farts been doing since you ran off? You know…other than retirement and the uh…gay stuff.”

Soldier noticed Spy tensing out of the corner of his eye, and he reached out to give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I have been getting better!” Andrew shared excitedly.

“Better? Better at what?” Scout gave him a confused look.

“You know! Better!” Andrew tilted his helmet back to show the youth his excited smile.

“If that’s an innuendo, then I don’t wanna know,” Scout threw up his hands defensively.

“He’s talking about the flashbacks and the blackouts,” Hugh interjected.

“I have been seeing a doctor!” Andrew explained.

“Like a…like a psychiatrist?” Scout asked, uncertainly, “Like, cause I hear that some guys feel way better after seeing a shrink!”

“He has been seeing a specialist,” Hugh put in, “Somebody who deals with war trauma and PTSD patients.”

“And he cured him?” Scout asked.

“I’m not cured,” Andrew said sadly, “Doc says I might never be cured. Nobody ever gets cured. The side effects just get better with treatment.”

“And care,” Hugh added, with a small secret smile that Scout could not see, meant just for the Soldier.

“So like…flashbacks and stuff?” Scout asked.

“I haven’t had a flashback in almost two months!” Andrew announced proudly.

“No blackouts either,” Hugh nodded, “Not including drunkenness.”

Andrew blushed, his smile shrinking with embarrassment. He did enjoy his drink, and he did get wasted a few weeks back. That had led him to black out so hard that he did not even remember drinking. He only knew by the massive hangover the next morning, and the guilty scorn-fest that Hugh gave him. Guilty, because Hugh had also been drinking and had not stopped Andrew from drinking and destroying the place they had been staying at.

“Wow, you must feel pretty good,” Scout smiled, “You been doing much cooking lately?”

Andrew was about to question the inquiry, when he realized that he had cooked for Scout once a long time ago. It had been a hobby he was getting into, but as busy as they were, Andrew had not had the time to do much more than quick fix meals lately.

“I was making a hobby of it,” he shrugged, “But we got busy.”

“Cramming in like a nine to five?” Scout chuckled.

“Harsher than that,” Hugh put in, “We’ve been going almost nonstop for almost a year now. Since joining Miss Pauling, we have had nothing but incidences across the country. Even when they are few and far between, the travel gets difficult and strenuous.”

“And I…am not the best behind the wheel,” Andrew admitted.

“We’ve had a few too many scares,” Hugh nodded in agreement.

Andrew nodded to him then turned back to Scout, “What about you, son? You been getting along alright without your old pals around?”

Scout frowned, “You know that most of the team died, right?”

There was suddenly a silent tension. It felt like a massive pressure within the car. It was horrifying to Andrew, and made him feel sick.

“Right around the time you guys left,” Scout went on, breaking the tension in his own ignorant way, “Demo, a Heavy and our Sniper were the only ones to come back. I was only there long enough to get my stuff though. Everybody was basically moving out to go to another base. The Heavy seemed pretty confused about it.”

Andrew looked to Hugh for confirmation. Surely the Spy knew about this. Surely he had a whiff of something about this incident. He could not believe everybody was dead. That just seemed beyond him.

His mind was randomly flipping through faces in his mind and the one class that came out of his mouth was, “Medic?”

“Oh yea, the guy from Mexico was there,” Scout said, suddenly remembering another survivor, “He was real quiet though. He didn’t talk to nobody though. Must have seen some shit.”

“Spy?” Andrew looked to Hugh, hoping he might fill in the blanks somewhere.

Scout thought he was referring to the other BLU Spy, “The douchebag who tried to kill Melisa? Yea, no. He’s dead. Maurice killed him.”

Andrew stared at Scout with disbelief. Maurice killed Réne? Réne was dead? That could not be!

“Mann Co and Mann Co affiliates were working to keep certain mercenaries in line,” Hugh said, in a cold and distant tone of voice, “In the process, they ended up killing several mercenaries unintentionally. Many of them were good men and did not deserve their de-” He suddenly cut off, looking into his side view mirror. “What the hell?”

Andrew looked out the back window, to see a red car speeding to get beside them. They watched the window roll down to see Maurice waving a folded bit of paper at them. They could not hear them over the roaring of two car engines. Eventually he fell in behind them, to follow them to the next stop.

“What the hell is that about?” Scout asked.

“Miss Pauling probably forgot something,” Hugh sighed, “We’ll talked to him at the next gas station. We are running low on fuel anyways.”

Andrew turned in his seat back to Scout again, “What have _you_ been up to, since we disappeared?”

“Oh! Uh…well, I reconnected with my dad,” he shrugged.

Andrew studied him curiously. Up to this point, he had been under the impression that his father was dead. Surely the man would have been as old as Scout’s mother. Or at least, somewhere around the same age as her. That meant that he should have been too old and likely would have died of old age.

“That’s good to hear,” Andrew nodded.

“Yea, well…that’s also why this is kinda important,” Scout leaned over his knees, “We gotta get that medigun quick, before it’s too late.”

“Hmm?” now Andrew was just a bit lost, but before he could ask, the car pulled over into a gas station and the screeching of tires from the next car caught his attention.

Hugh was the first to get out, stepping toward the other car to meet the man who ran out to him. Andrew stepped out of the car, but did not go far, simply scanning the area for any threats. He felt more alert than he once was, and he used it to his advantage, to make sure there were no attacks coming.


	18. Nab a Medigun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh, Maurizio, Drake and Andrew are off to get themselves a medigun.  
> Hugh and Drake have a little heart to heart about Antoine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am feeling good this holiday season! So much writing gotten done! And so much more i intend to get done!

Hugh met the RED halfway between the vehicles. The Italian was breathing a sigh, “I was starting to think you were trying to lose me.”

“No,” Hugh assured him, “We are simply in a hurry to get to that medigun.”

“Doo- uh…Engie had a list of things he wants us to grab,” he explained.

“Don’t you think the medigun is a little more important?” Hugh asked, a bit insulted at the insistence to grab some things from the Engineer workshop. They had to get a medigun for Antoine, after all.

“I understand that,” Maurice nodded, “The way I see it, both are important. We have two cars, so it won’t be much trouble. If it takes too much time, you go with the medigun and I’ll finish collecting the Engineer’s requested parts.”

“I do not see why you needed to rush after us for Engineer’s parts,” Hugh narrowed his eyes.

“Well, think of the long term,” the RED Spy insisted, “If we are to be fighting again, it is likely that we will need a dispenser again. And also sentries. We cannot rely solely on a medigun with one Medic.”

“There are only eight of us,” Hugh said, folding his arms over his chest. Only then did he realize that he needed to pump gas. He turned and tossed the leather wallet from his pocket to Andrew, “Go buy some fuel!”

The American was surprised at first, but then smiled and saluted before he marched into the liquor store. Scout quickly followed after him, perhaps eager to continue their previous discussion.

He turned back to the Italian, “First and foremose, I am focused on getting the other Spy back on his feet.”

“I can understand that,” the other put his hands up defensively, “Not that I know why you’re that insistent on getting him back on his feet, but I understand the cause. But, Miss Pauling insinuated that there were others.”

“There are always others,” Hugh growled. He glanced around warily for anybody who might be eavesdropping on their conversation. He did not need any trouble. He did not doubt that this close to a base, Mann Co might have eyes and ears around the local towns to keep mercenaries in line or the people away from the mercenaries.

“What is that supposed to mean?” the RED blinked at him, with confusion.

“It means that Miss Pauling is trying to recruit more,” he explained, “Some are already one step in, but have yet to be convinced to leave their current positions for the sake of…whatever it is that Miss Pauling is trying to achieve.”

“Ah…” the other man was silent for a few moments. He shifted from foot to foot as he thought about all of this. He seemed rather thoughtful, but there was something too impulsive to trust about him.

Suddenly, Scout called out from the store doorway, catching both of their attentions, “Hey Sp- uh…Jacques! Did you want a full tank or half a tank?”

He glanced at the other Spy before he answered, “A full tank.”

“Right, got it!” Scout retreated back into the store, heading to the back where he could see the broad shoulders of the other man as he browsed what was probably snacks.

He did not like being in the car without something to snack on anymore. Hugh could sympathize well enough. They had been traveling from one end of the country to the other for almost a year now. He was as sick of driving as Andrew was sick of being in a car. It was worth an extra few dollars to have a little comfort in the machine’s confines.

“You and Solly make a pretty good team,” the other Spy noted.

He raised an eyebrow at the Italian, curiously. He could have sworn that there was a hint of insinuation in his words. But, perhaps that was just a Spy’s suspiciousness. He was probably being a little too paranoid.

“I’m sure this will be a uh…how do they say? Piece of cake?” he asked.

Hugh nodded, “Every moment wasted is another chance lost.”

“I’m sorry?” the RED asked with confusion in his eyes.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “Never mind.”

Just then, Andrew and the Scout came out the door waving at them. “We got snacks!” Andrew called out.

“Start pumping gas!” Scout added.

Hugh nodded, turning his attention to his task. He kept the other Spy within his peripheral view though. Maybe it was the fact that he had been away from other Spies for so long, but he felt so paranoid about having the man standing so close. It was more than a little irritating.

“So Maurice, what did ya want?” Scout asked, biting into the plastic of a stick of meat he bought. He tore the plastic off, ripping it with his teeth, before taking a bite of the actual meat – or at least the packaging said that it was meat.

Maurice turned to Scout with a pleasant smile, “Dooley had some things he wanted us to get for him.”

Scout scoffed, a bit peeved, “Really? That guy is such a fucking-”

“Scout, that’s enough,” Hugh interrupted, not wanting to hear more babbling from the youth about how he hated the Engineer.

Hugh had plenty of reason to dislike the Engineer himself. In fact, he hated the man. He had to push down the thoughts and the memories with clenched teeth, trying to make himself forget what was done to Andrew. That was in the past, and he could not walk around wearing his heart on his sleeve like Andrew did.

“We need cohesion,” he stated, “Not a riot.”

“He is right,” Maurice nodded in agreement, gesturing towards Hugh, “Let’s not try to bring up any negative things. Alright?”

“Maurice has a good head on his shoulders,” Andrew stated, after setting bags of snacks on his seat in the car.

“What we need right now,” Hugh cleared his throat, bringing their attentions back, “Is to prepare for what’s to come. Maurice is right. We need not rely solely on a Medic. If the Engineer can build us a dispenser when we need it, then we will be better off.”

“Ah…good, right,” Scout nodded, listening with his arms folded over his chest. There was still some complication though, like he was holding something back.

Hugh hung the pump back in its place and closed the car’s gas tank, “Let’s get going. Time is of the essence.”

“Right!” Scout turned to Maurice, “You’re going with us, right?”

“Sí,” Maurice nodded.

“Cool! I’ll ride with you then!” Scout grabbed his snacks and bolted for the other car. Suddenly, he stopped at the door, just as he was about to open the passenger side, “Oh! Uh…no offense…I was just hopin’ to catch up. You know…haven’t hung out in forever.”

Hugh waved dismissively, “It’s fine, go.”

“See you at the base,” Andrew waved with a smile.

 

The ride to the base was spent in relative silence. Andrew was munching hungrily on snacks, while grumbling about wanting a sandwich. Hugh promised him they would get food after they delivered the medigun to the motel where the comatose Spy was waiting.

Arriving there was easy, but the silence was unsettling. They arrived upon the BLU base, given they were less likely to be seen as a threat. If things went well, they might just be able to pass by most of them, without the team realizing that anybody had come.

Of course, they had to park the cars a long ways away, out of sight. They had to walk the long distance to the base, trying to be quiet, while also feeling so tired, as they made their way into the base itself. They had yet to see or hear anybody as of yet, which was alarming. Normally, the Administrator’s voice would be shouting at them, the recordings alerting resident mercenaries of an intruder.

“You think anybody is even here?” Scout asked, looking around.

“Drake, be quiet!” Maurice hissed.

“You’re not being very stealthy,” Andrew stated.

“I agree with the Soldier, you’re not,” a familiar Scottish accent came to the ear.

All of their heads turned to see a Demoman. It was not just any Demoman though, it was Joshua Forbes, the man they used to work with on BLU. As Hugh remembered, Forbes used to work as the team’s handler.

He looked a bit cross, “You…I remember.” He was pointing to the Italian Spy, with a squinting eye.

“We do not have much time, we are trying to save a colleague’s life,” Hugh insisted, trying to cut short whatever this was.

“Nae, I know what you’re here for,” Forbes growled.

Scout and Maurice shared a look, and the Spy shrugged. Hugh shook his head, “And what is that?”

“You want the intelligence, don’t you?” Forbes asked, with a taunting voice, like he had discovered some secret they did not know about.

“No,” Hugh argued, “That is _not_ what we are here for.”

“We are here for a medigun!” Andrew announced, stepping towards the Demoman.

The Demoman took a step back, blinking at the Soldier with profound surprise. He seemed absolutely stunned, then again, he seemed even drunker than Hugh remembered. He remembered the man as an alcoholic, but now he just seemed absolutely belligerent.

“Soldier?” Demo’s pitch went up a bit, “Didn’t you go to Mexico?” He was swaying, as if he might fall over.

“Yes!” Andrew said, his head popping up so that his helmet bounced, “And then I came back, we kicked some ass, saved Melisa, and then I left again.”

“Where have you been?!” Forbes started laughing, a deep thick belly laugh.

“All over the United States!” Andrew sounded pretty proud of that fact.

“We don’t have time for this,” Hugh started forward, but Forbes stepped into the way.

“Demo, we need the medigun,” Andrew reached out and put a hand on the Demoman’s shoulder.

“You’ll have to go through me first,” he glared at the Soldier.

His grip tightened and suddenly, he pulled Forbes off balance, “Then I will!” He struggled, getting the Demoman into a headlock. “Go!” he barked at their general direction.

Hugh darted off, hurrying towards the infirmary. He pulled out an invis watch, reach for a Medic to come defend his area. He motioned to Scout and the other Spy, “Keep a lookout, while I get what we need.”

He activated the watch and slipped into the infirmary. He kept a careful watch for the team’s Medic. He could not be sure of what would come at him. He was sure that whoever worked here, like every other Medic working for RED or BLU, he had his fair share of secrets he wanted to keep hidden from a Spy.

It was easy to find the medigun, but once he pulled it down, his cloak dropped. He was not concerned, as there seemed to be no signs of life here. Everything was so quiet and serene. There might as well have been nobody around. He could have just walked in and out with this thing.

With a pleased shrug, he stepped out of the infirmary. That was when Maurice came running from up the hallway. His arms were flailing.

“The rest of the BLU team has returned! And they are not happy!” Maurice declared, waving his arms in a frightened manner.

“What? What were you doing over there?” Hugh was glad to have an explanation for why it was so quiet, but he was not necessarily relieved.

“I heard trucks,” Maurice explained, “And they’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

“Fuck!” Scout exclaimed.

Hugh dug into his pocket for his keys and threw them at the Scout, “Scout, run and get my car. We don’t have much time.”

“Right! On it!” Scout took off as fast as he could, quicker on his feet than a rabbit.

“You go on ahead,” Maurice laid a hand on Hugh’s shoulder, as if it was supposed to be some sort of comfort coming from a stranger, “I will stay behind and gather supplies for the Engineer.”

“How? They know you’re here now,” Hugh said, making his way quickly towards the entrance, hoping that Scout would be quick enough, “They will be all over this base.”

“True, but I don’t think they are expecting a Spy to be stealing engineering parts,” he insisted.

“How will you keep them from finding you?” Hugh pressed, watching as his own car came speeding towards them.

“I’ll distract them!” Andrew suddenly announced behind him.

He was so startled that he almost dropped the formula to be placed within the machine he was holding. He gave Andrew a scornful look that said not to sneak up on him like that. How strange that the louder of the two of them could get the jump on the sneakier one.

“Thank you, amico!” Maurice patted Andrew’s shoulder, “I’ll be in and out as fast as I can. I promise!” He hurried off without another word.

Hugh had not even had a chance to argue, “Andrew, I’m not leaving you here alone to fend off an entire team.”

“There is no time,” Andrew insisted, pushing him forward as the blue car came to a halt, “You and Scout go. Take care of the others. Also, get Scout’s arm fixed. He keeps messing with it. And we’ll be along with the Engineer’s request!”

“Andrew,” he pressed insistently.

Andrew gave him an adorable crooked smile, “I’ll be fine. War is a thing a man learns to dance with. Let me do a happy dance before I turn in for the day!”

Hugh sighed, with a roll of his eyes, “Be careful.”

He paused leaning over to peck Andrew’s cheek, before he darted towards the car. He leaped into the passenger seat to throw the machine on the back seat. “Drive!” he barked loudly.

Scout stepped on the gas and they sped off, heading towards the road past the oncoming BLU team. That confused the team so much that one truck of mercenaries turned around to chase them. He encouraged Scout to keep up the speed, wanting to lose the attackers altogether. Eventually they did give up the chase and the car was given a chance to slow down.

Scout took a deep breath, “Whoo…man…that was…that was fun!”

“There is nothing _fun_ about this situation,” Hugh said looking over his shoulders for any signs of a return of chase.

“I know, but I mean like…going that fast! And being in control going that fast! That was so cool!” Scout said excitedly.

“We’re never doing that again,” Hugh said sternly, certain that that would have been Scout’s next request.

“Whatever man,” Scout said, shifting in his seat, “That was really fun.”

Hugh straightened in his seat, “Just focus on the road. We have a long drive ahead.”

“Yea I know,” Scout argued, “Why don’t you take a nap or something, I got this.”

“Hardly time for sleep,” he insisted. He did not want to admit to the Scout, who had probably seen him kiss the Soldier’s cheek, and already knew that the two of them were in a relationship, that he was afraid for Andrew’s life.

“Nonsense!” Scout insisted, “This is a perfect time to get rested!”

Hugh sighed, “Not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” Scout asked.

Hugh sighed, “Never mind, don’t worry about it.” He scanned the road ahead.

“I really _can_ drive, you know,” Scout insisted.

“I am looking for a gas station,” he replied, “Or a place to pull off.”

“Why? I thought you were against wasting time!” Scout scoffed.

“Switch places, so _you_ can rest,” Hugh insisted.

“Nah, I can’t sleep anyways,” Scout said, shaking his head, “You’ve been behind the wheel for like…all day though. Take a break.”

Hugh relaxed a little bit, “Thank you.”

They were quiet for a minute, paying attention to the road. The longer Hugh sat there, the more tired he felt. He could not let himself sleep though. He had a task to do, and he was always unsure of the Scout’s driving abilities. He would sleep later, after he was sure that they were going to make it to the motel.

“So, you and your father have really patched things up?” he asked, hoping to make small talk.

Scout tensed up, “Uh…what? Who?”

He was so visibly tensed that Spy became alarmed, “Pay attention to what you are doing!”

“R-right,” Scout nodded, relaxing as he looked at the road.

“No need to be nervous,” he said, hoping to relieve the Scout’s tension a little further.

“Nervous? What? I’m not nervous!” Scout spouted awkwardly, “I’m just confused as to why you would ask something so weird like that! I mean, it’s not like you ever talk about your dad!”

“He was never around,” Spy stated.

“What?” Scout’s head spun to look at him, “Oh. Um…I’m sorry. I guess I can relate to that.”

“How?” Hugh looked at him curiously, “Your father moved to live with you when you were a youth, isn’t that right?”

“Yea…but it’s not like I knew he was my dad,” Scout shrugged, “And it’s not like he was there long. I didn’t even meet him until I was thirteen, and then he was gone by the time I was like…I dunno…fifteen?”

“And back to join you at Mann Co,” Hugh noted, thinking back on the story as he remembered it.

It felt rather strange, thinking back on it all. For years, he knew that it was Antoine behind the mask, and Scout knew it too. But Antoine was not sure that it was Hugh. And Antoine was there, stuck on the enemy team, opposing his old partner and his son. It was laughable now, but looking back on how it all went down, it must have been torture for the other Spy.

“Yea, well…um…hey, you like music right? I’m gonna turn on some music,” Scout reached for the radio, only to find that it would not turn on, “Uh…your radio…it’s…it’s broken.”

“Yes, Scout,” Hugh nodded, “I am aware of that. It does not play anything, because A- er…Soldier broke it.”

Scout chuckled at that, “Man. I miss the good ol’ days! Even the times when Soldier would break stuff!”

“He never _meant_ harm,” Hugh offered with a shrug, “Things just happened in a way where he lost control.”

“Yea, I know,” Scout nodded with a small smile, “Those are the times that I miss. And I miss them because I know he was a good guy. He’s a great guy!”

Hugh nodded, smiling to himself, “I know.” It was weirder to think that he used to look down on the Soldier as an incompetent buffoon.

There was a long silence. During this time, Hugh thought back to Andrew. He closed his eyes, keeping Andrew in his thoughts, hoping that he would be fine and that Maurice would carry through with his plans and his promise to bring the Soldier safe to the motel after them.

“Hey uh…Spy?” the Scout broke his train of thought.

“Yes? What is it?” Hugh gave him a curious look.

“D-do you…uh…do you really know all of that stuff about my family?” Scout asked, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Relax, I have always known,” Hugh insisted, “It is nothing new.”

“Wait! What? Really?” Scout sounded so surprised, “I mean…I figured you would figure it out eventually. You’re a really good Spy. I mean, back in the day you managed to turn the whole team around! Remember that really bad streak we had? But…uh… Where uh…where was I going with this?” That last part sounded like a question for himself.

“I think you were worried about what I would think, or what I have told others?” Hugh offered, “And the fact is that I have known. I have known since before you joined Mann Co, before he left France, before you were born.”

“How could you know before I was born?” Scout gave him a puzzled look.

“How do you think?” he challenged.

“Are you like…a psychic or something?” Scout jested.

“No,” Hugh shook his head with a chuckle, “Try again.”

“Uhh…you went to a psychic?” Scout offered.

Hugh started laughing, “No!”

“Well come on! Tell me! I can’t keep guessing! I’m gonna run outta guesses over here!” Scout pleaded.

“You really want to know how I know about you?” Hugh was chuckling.

“Yea, cause not even my ma knew about me before I was born,” Scout said, “I mean, there weren’t any documents or anything that said I was even alive.”

“Your parents knew about you when you were just a few months in existence,” Hugh explained, “I remember how your father used to brag about the boy he had back home, a strapping young lad in America living with his mom and brothers.”

There was a short silence, “He bragged about me?”

Hugh nodded, “Yes.”

“Well…that’s…uh…that’s odd,” he scratched the back of his neck, “So uh…then…you knew him way back…way back when?”

“Your father was just a fresh new recruit straight out of a fancy training school when I met him,” Hugh explained, restraining a yawn, “He was a little fidgety. Not unlike you are.”

“Heh,” Scout was quite for a little bit.  
“He returned to France for the war,” Hugh went on, “But, he’d always talk about you, like he knew you. He once had a picture of you. You must have been…maybe four or five years old in that picture. He carried it with him…everywhere…for nearly three years. Then he lost it during a bust, and he was broken up about it.”

“You make him sound like a real emotional guy,” Scout said, flexing his hands on the steering wheel, “I don’t remember him doing much but making smiles or making frowns.”

“He is a Spy,” Hugh offered with a shrugged, “Of course he is going to show limited expressions. But, as a young man among Spies, he was rather emotional. Very raw, one would call him.”

“Huh,” Scout sighed, his eyes meandering down to his hands.

“Watch the road, Scout,” Hugh scorned.

Scout’s eyes snapped back up, “I’m fine! I’ve got it!”

Hugh sighed. He did not feel very assured about the Scout’s competence behind the wheel. He kept his eyes open for as long as he could manage, giving the Scout directions when he forgot which way they came, but eventually he dozed off with his head pressed to the glass of his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Spy dynamic and I love that Drake has a small bit of relation to each of them. At some point, he really disliked each of them, but has come to find them important in his life.  
> Maurizio is easy for anybody to warm up to.  
> Antoine just knows him on a personal level and is a dad who finally gets to be a part of his life.  
> Hugh has been his teammate, but they were at odds until recently. I think the recent change has been Andrew's relationship with Hugh, which affected his behavior, more than Drake becoming accepting of him. That was reflected more in "Her Name" though.  
> Look forward to more action as this story progresses! And uh...don't worry...the story hasn't forgotten about Bleu.


	19. Thief and Pawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurice and Andrew try to work out getting the Engineer's parts, but everything goes awry. Only one man is driving back to the motel.

Andrew had the stolen rocket launcher up and ready. The oncoming BLU team looked fierce, but they had already lost four of their men, who tried to chase after Hugh and Scout. He hoped that they made it away alright.

In the meantime, he would have to distract these five, while Maurice gathered the parts from the Engineer’s workshop. Their truck came to a stop a ways away, giving him enough space to rocket jump over them. He sent a couple rockets their way, causing damage to their vehicle. They rushed to get out of the way, but their Demoman was sent to respawn.

Bingo! he thought, as he tried to estimate his time and how much time Maurice needed. Truth of the matter was that he had no idea how long Maurice needed. Respawn would take ten minutes, but for all he knew, Maurice needed an hour. That thought made him feel panicked. He had the jump on these guys now, but once they respawned, they would be fully armed to the tooth. One Soldier could not hold off an entire team.

When he landed, he started running for a building in the battlefield. At least RED teammates were not out and about to stir up trouble. Then again, when he thought about it, they would provide a lot of cover and distraction for him. He might be better off riling up the REDs too.

“I’m gonna head butt ya!” he heard the Scout charging his way.

The youth was fast, but he was faster with his rocket launcher. Watching the Soldier go up, the Scout might as well have never seen a Soldier launch himself before in his life, because he slowed down and watched him with an agape mouth. He was not moving a whole lot, which made him a very easy target for rockest.

Two down and three more to go. But, the Demoman would reaspawn in another eight minutes. He needed to find something better to distract them with.

He headed off towards the RED base, hoping to rile somebody up there by causing trouble. If nothing else, it would buy Maurice more time. That was all he needed, more time.

The Medic was hot on his tail, with the Soldier following behind. That was when he realized that there should have been a third mercenary. There were only those two though, chasing after him and shouting at him.

A thought donned on him as he realized that the third person had been a Spy. He had probably figured out what Andrew was doing. He was probably the smartest one there. And he was probably in the Engineer’s workshop looking for Maurice.

He launched himself to the next building, using his stolen rocket launcher to leap from building to building until he came to the BLU base again. He ran inside, hoping to stay ahead of the Medic, who was very fast.

He rushed through the base, which had a slightly different layout from the bases he had been in before, but that did not matter because there were brightly lit signs everywhere. He followed the signs until he reached the Engineer’s workshop. What he had not expected was to find that the Spy had already gone there, and he ran right into the man.

His helmet tipped and bumped into a leg. A glimmer of red caught his eye, revealing Maurice’s position. He cursed breathily.

“Spy!” the Spy beneath him struggled, pushing him off, “Get off of me, Soldier! There is a Spy!”

Andrew scrambled to his feet at the same time as the Spy. Much to his relief, the bump had worn off and Maurice had disappeared again. But, the BLU Spy was armed with a revolver, ready to shoot the moment he found the enemy Spy.

“Get your gun ready,” the Spy growled, “He could be anywhere.”

Andrew looked around with uncertainty. It was true, Maurice could be anywhere by now. In fact, he could have gotten to safety. Being dressed in red, Maurice was very obviously not part of the team. Being dressed in blue garb, Soldier blended right in. It could have been in part the helmet, since it hid half of his face.

“Soldier, where is your weapon?” the Spy turned to ask him.

Just then, metal scraped across the ground, causing the BLU Spy to swing around wildly. Andrew watched in shock as the RED’s cloak dropped and he raised his hands. The BLU opened fire, but as Maurice flinched, he missed the first shot. Not wanting to see him actually hit his mark, Andrew jumped at him, one arm wrapping around his neck, the other hand grabbing the arm holding the gun.

“What are you doing?!” the BLU Spy exclaimed, frantically trying to pull up on the gun to fend off the RED Spy, who was approaching.

Andrew was surprised at how much stronger he was than this man. One arm got him in a headlock, and the other kept his arm from aiming at Maurice. Granted, he could not get the weapon away from him, but it was better than nothing.

“Apologies, amico,” Maurice raised a wrench and brought it down on the BLU Spy’s head. Andrew simply let him drop to the floor.

“This stuff is heavy,” Maurice hurried over to the thing he wanted to bring out, “Can you help me carry?”

Andrew shook his head, “They’ll be on us in a few minutes. I have to create a diversion!”

“This won’t work,” Maurice shook his head, setting the thing down, “You grab the stuff. I made a pile already, it just has to go to my car.” He tossed Andrew the keys, striding hastily towards the door. “Put it in the trunk and honk when you’ve finished. I’ll create a diversion.”

Andrew watched him leave before he rushed to grab things. He was easily able to grab more than Maurice had before. So, he was stronger than the BLU Spy and he was stronger than Maurice. He started wondering if he was any stronger than Hugh. The thought of an arm wrestle made him giggle.

It must have taken him about five minutes to get everything in the pile loaded into the trunk of the car. He just hoped the machine had the power to carry all of that weight as fast as Maurice could drive. He certainly was not going to be driving.

He opened the driver’s side door and honked the horn before closing it. He would wait in the passenger seat. There was no point in sitting in the driver’s seat if he was just going to be shuffled out of it anyways.

He got one step away from the door when something whacked him on the back of his head. He cried out in pain as his head swam. Blackness surrounded him as he fell to the ground. The last thought that came to mind for him was that Hugh was going to kill him.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Cursing himself breathily, Maurizio scouted the perimeter of the base. This base’s Sniper, Scout, Pyro, Demoman, Heavy and Soldier were all out here guarding the perimeter. The lights in the workshop told him that the Engineer was there, sorting through his things. He guessed the Medic must have been in the infirmary, taking care of usual paperwork or something. The Spy would likely be the one questioning the Soldier who infiltrated their base.

That thought sank in his gut like a rock. He had considered, for a split moment, just leaving with the car before they could find out what had happened, but after relocating the vehicle, Maurice found himself fretting about the Soldier more. Of all the people, of all the friends he ever had, he was certain that the Soldier would never do intentional harm. He was the most innocent killer he had ever met. He was sure even a child would have more ill intentions than Andrew.

So as the evening progressed into night, he circled the building, searching for an opening. All he needed was one small opening. Just one chance to sneak past them and get inside. Once he was inside, he would worry about getting the Soldier out. Soldier’s safety was his first prerogative.

But, every which angle that he came at it from, he found only more problems. Disguising as one of them was impossible without programming one of their identities into his disguise kid. Having no programming knowledge, he was at a loss as to what he could do. If he cloaked and slipped by them, his cloak would wear off just in time for them to hear it. They were listening too, none of them making a sound as they quietly scouted the outside of the building. They were expecting him and his tricks.

There was one last trick that he knew, one that was uncertain at best, and one that he was sure no good Spy in the history of spying would ever try. It had gotten him a long way with friendlies and enemies before, back in Mexico. But, this was different. This was a hostage situation wherein he was definitely in the wrong for stealing.

He would approach them as himself. He would present himself to them without disguise or cloak. He would just be himself and hope that they responded well when he told them honestly why they were there.

He stepped out of his hiding spot among the trees. He emerged from his shadows, gun raised and ready. Several mercenaries snapped to attention, raising guns to him. He pointed the muzzle up, raising both hands into the air.

The Sniper shared a look with the Scout curiously. The Sniper spoke in a low growl, “Drop the gun on the ground and kick it over.”

Maurizio did as he was told, carefully dropping it in front of his foot to kick it towards the Sniper. He hoped this would be enough to show that he was peaceful. Maybe they could talk things out.

Of course it was not, as the Sniper told the Scout to search him. He moved his legs a foot apart from each other, giving the Scout room to check his pant legs for weapons. Frankly, he rarely kept extra weapons. Most Spies found sneaky suspicious ways of hiding more weapons, but Maurizio had seen no reason to bring a gun. Given that he had expected that he would be killing the Engineer, he had intended to either poison or shoot the man, leave his body somewhere to be found, and leave. He had not been expecting to run into any other mercenaries, let alone get involved in a hostage situation.

“He’s clear,” Scout said, “Got nothin’ on him.”

“Bullshit,” the Sniper took a step towards him, never letting the semi-automatic weapon down.

“Did you check his shoes?” the Soldier asked.

“No, I didn’t check his shoes,” the Scout sighed in exasperation. He crouched down and tapped Maurizio’s ankle, “Lift your foot.”

He did as he was told, letting the Scout remove each shoe and each sock. He turned the shoes over, and even searched the thin black socks, to find nothing.

Then the Sniper came closer, gun still raised, “Turn around.”

His threatening growl was scary and it sent frightened shivers up his spine. Still, he obeyed with quiet and careful movements. He dared not piss these people off. They still had Andrew, after all.

The Sniper was much rougher than the Scout, trying to search more thoroughly. He was more careful about pushing his hand flush to his skin, almost like he was digging under his clothing. It made his skin turn red as he grew hot with embarrassment at the rough touching.

The Sniper came away with nothing. Yet, he growled with dissatisfaction. He was determined to find a hidden weapon on the Spy.

“Happy?” the Scout asked.

“Not even a little,” the Sniper growled.

“If it isn’t there, then it isn’t there,” the Demoman intervened.

Sniper jerked his head at the Scout, “Go get Engie. Tell him to bring his scanner.”

The Scout sighed with exasperation, “Fine.” He darted off to the workshop to fetch the man the Sniper had asked for.

“I mean no harm,” Maurizio finally said.

“I’m sure,” the Sniper growled with doubt.

“Spies only come crawling in to do harm!” the Soldier added.

Slowly, Maurizio turned around, his hands raised above his head, “Listen, I sincerely am only here to talk.”

“Keep talking, Frenchie!” the Soldier growled, “Nobody’s listening!”

He rolled his eyes, noting the American’s ignorance, “You have a Soldier as a captive.”

“Yea, and he was trying to steal away with our equipment,” the Sniper growled.

“Wrong. _I_ was trying to steal away with your equipment,” he corrected, holding himself straight and tall. He dared not show fear now. “He was simply a pawn, a victim of circumstance,” he stated. This was where he needed the training for lies, as he weaved an interlocking web of fibs. “He does not even know what he is doing here,” he insisted, “He’s colorblind too. So, he probably thinks he is attacking the RED base.”

“Why should we believe you?” the Sniper asked.

“Why?” he glanced at the Soldier standing just a step behind the Sniper, then smiled at the Sniper, “Ask him yourself.”

“Only thing he has been talking about has been how much he refuses to talk,” the Sniper argued, “I don’t trust you for a moment.”

“Oh really?” he glanced at the Soldier again, “Send your Soldier in.” He was banking on Andrew being able to lie to a Soldier, or at least do something to make himself seem crazier than this guy.

“Soldier doesn’t do interrogation,” the Demoman chuckled, taking the glare from the Soldier.

“I can do what I want! Don’t tell me what I cannot do!” the Soldier announced, proudly. He stormed off, possibly to pout, but Maurizio had a sneaking suspicion that he was off to see about the captive Soldier.

“What’s going on, over here?” the Engineer tromped towards them, with the Scout at his heels.

“Bastard’s got his weapons well hidden,” Sniper said, raising the muzzle of his gun a bit more, aiming for Maurizio’s head.

“You sure you ain’t just paranoid, son?” the Engineer shook his head. He pulled out a device that scanned every part that he waved it over. Suddenly it beeped, “Metal in your sleeve?”

That was when he remembered a knife, “Ah. Whoops.” He jerked his hand, causing the blade to come out. He held still, while the Engineer took it with a gloved hand.

The Engineer resumed scanning him. He even rechecked that arm to make sure there was nothing else hiding in his sleeve. He was just as thorough as the others, but not quite so rough.

“Listen, I know you ain’t the Spy from the other base over there, so what are you doing here?” the Engineer asked in a hushed voice, as he scanned Maurizio’s back.

This must be the handler, he thought. He spoke in a soft voice, “I was sent here by Miss Pauling.”

“I’m sure you were,” the Engineer said, with a slightly disbelieving tone.

“We have several injured and one comatose. We need parts for our Engineer to set up a dispenser,” he insisted in a hushed whisper.

“That sounds a mite bit suspicious,” the Engineer argued.

“Why would it be suspicious?” he demanded, “We have several injured. This is the closest location with materials available, and we have an urgent situation.”

“Miss Pauling would have access to those kinds of parts,” the Engineer said, with a tone of certainty.

“Did you not hear me? We have several injured, and one is comatose,” Maurizio hissed impatiently, “He could be dead already! And your base is the closest to their location!”

“Then why don’t you give me their location, I’ll contact Miss Pauling and bring her the parts myself,” the Engineer dropped his hand, finished with the scanning. He could not keep stalling as the Sniper grew impatient.

“I cannot do that,” he said, not wanting to cause trouble for Miss Pauling and the others directly.

“Well then, I cannot help you,” the Engineer started to walk away.

“Wait! Wait…all I am asking of you is to release the Soldier,” Maurizio pleaded. In all honesty, that is all he wanted, was to free Andrew from them.

The Engineer stopped and turned to look at him. Behind the dark lenses of his goggles, he seemed to be pondering. Whether it was in his favor or not remained to be seen.

“Why would we _ever_ do that?” the Sniper scoffed, “You and your little Soldier friend are going to be spending a while in a prison hold, while we sort this out.”

“He’s done nothing wrong!” Maurizio cried out.

“He was found stealing shit from Engie!” the Scout proclaimed, “You two-faced liar.”

“But _I’m_ the liar. _I’m_ the thief. Not him. No the Soldier. He is just a pawn, an innocent victim of circumstance,” he insisted.

Suddenly, the Demoman walked forward. He looked at the dark Scotsman with slight hesitation, but a bit of recognition. The BLU Demoman from the woods. He remembered him only a little bit, mostly from his talent with mixing drinks for the team. Maybe, just maybe, he recognized Maurizio.

“I believe him,” the Demoman said. That brought a breath of relief to Maurizio’s lungs.

“What? Are you serious?” the Sniper looked at the Demoman with disbelief.

Joshua Forbes looked Maurizio up and down thoughtfully. He had this look of scrutiny about him, but it did not seem authentic. He was not the type of guy who tried to look pompous and haughty. He was the light of the party after all, not a calculated killer.

“Knowing the Soldier the way I do, he’s telling the truth, for the most part,” the Demoman nodded.

“You know the Soldier?” the Engineer turned to him with surprise.

The Demoman nodded, “Worked with him for decades.”

“And you’re gonna take the word of a stranger?” Sniper motioned with his gun towards the Spy.

“I don’ trust the Spy,” Forbes admitted, folding his arms over his chest, “But I trust the Soldier.”

The Engineer finally nodded, “Scout, go tell Spy to let the Soldier loose. We’re finished with him.”

“Uh…okay,” the Scout trotted off, looking a bit disgruntled at being sent on another errand.

“And this one?” Sniper growled, looking a bit too trigger happy.

“Tie him up and take him to Spy,” Engineer gestured, “I’m sure he’s got his tools already ready after the Soldier.”

Now that the Soldier was getting out, the next step was to think about how to get himself out. But, as they brought his hands to his back and began tying him, he started to wonder if he could do that on his own.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Andrew was confused and bewildered when the other Soldier came storming in. At first the team’s Spy rounded on him for interrupting, but the man was so set on his goal that he charged right through him. The Spy fell onto his ass and Andrew chortled, glad to see his torturer get a bit of pain.

The Soldier came into his face and shook a finger at him, “You think you are something? You communist filth. You’re worthless. Worth less than dirt! You see? Now, tell me where the rat bastard reds are so I can tear them a new one!” The other Soldier grabbed his chair and shook him around.

Panicked, Andrew floundered to say anything, “What are you talking about?” He started to wonder if he ever sounded this delusional to others.

“You make me sick!” the Soldier gave him a hard shake, causing his back to hit the chair. That hurt a lot, given his back’s poor state. “Where are the commies!”

“There are no communists!” Andrew raised his voice.

“Bullshit! Every last one of you commie scum deserves death at the highest punishment rank!” the Soldier growled.

Andrew noticed a pair of ribbons holding medals to the Soldier’s jacket. They were made of bottle caps, ribbon and glue. An internal rage coursed up through his body and erupted from his mouth.

“I did not fight in the war to be talked down to by some wannabe with a sham for a medal!” he shouted back at him.

“How dare you!” the other raised a fist to punch him.

“Go ahead! Punch me! All you’ll be doing is feeding the real enemies! The real commies! I fought in that war and I fought hard! You sicken me with your fake cheesy medals!” he spat at him, hoping to add insult to injury. Then the punching proceeded his angered words.

“Hey Spy!” the Scout came in, causing the Soldier to stop and look at the newcomer.

“What is it, Scout?” the Spy turned from watching to address the younger man.

“Engie says we’re to let the Soldier go,” Scout said, “Says he’s no use to us.”

“Where did he get this information?” the Spy demanded.

“We got a new prisoner,” the Scout shrugged, “A RED prisoner.”

The other Soldier started smiling, giddy at the idea of getting to punch a RED. Andrew was frowning, thinking on what he had just said. It quickly donned on him that the only possible RED they could have caught was Maurice.

He did not have a chance to argue or protest. He was dragged out of that room and hauled out to the front of the base. He was dropped to the ground, where he scrambled, having lost his balance. He looked around to see a BLU Engineer, who tossed him a set of keys.

“Take that there car, and don’t come back here,” the Engineer said.

“Take his advice lad,” the Demoman said.

The Demoman was standing there. Andrew met eyes with the Demoman, feeling stunned and unsure. He recognized him well, from all of those years fighting beside him and drinking with him. Surely he recognized Andrew, he had to.

“Just git!” the Demoman commanded, motioning wildly towards the red car.

He was hesitant, but he eventually went to the car. He got out the keys and unlocked it, slipping into the driver’s seat. He paused as he felt the driver’s wheel, knowing he would be leaving Maurice behind.

“Get going!” the Engineer shouted at him.

He started up the car and let it rumble for a few moments. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for a long drive. “I’ll be back for you, Maurice,” he mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two characters...they don't get enough time to just hang out together.


	20. Recovering from Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a little guilt for almost everybody to feel about the situation.

Hugh paced nervously outside. There was not much space in the room that they had initially acquired, given how many people were currently occupying it, so he got one for just him and Andrew. Yet, he could not bring himself to stay inside. He told the others that he just needed fresh air to smoke in, but something in his mind told him that he was really waiting to see that red car with Andrew in it.

In reality, there were a lot of things he was waiting for. He was waiting for the scenario where Andrew was being held captive and the Italian came for support to get him back. The moment when the car arrived, but with both mercenaries held captive. Or the moment where Andrew came back dead in the trunk. He could not think of the option of nobody coming at all, the car at least had to come.

Watching every car was aggravating. Sometimes he worried if the Spy might put Andrew behind the wheel, then he might miss his turn at the motel altogether. That brought a chuckle to him though, and it made him feel a bit better.

Still, perched on the side of his car, he watched every odd car that pulled into that motel. There were a surprising amount of cars pulling in, and it drove him crazy. His heart started to pound loudly in his ears every time they came in. And then when he saw that it was not the sporty red car that the Italian Spy drove, his heart dropped at the letdown.

It was dark now, and the lights made everything worse. Shining headlights in his eyes, he did not recognize the car. He was hesitant, not wanting to get his hopes up at seeing yet another car pull in. He did not want to feel that heart sinking feeling again.

The lights turned off and the color red was revealed where the car sat, right in the middle of the lot. That was a bit strange, but it was not that suspicious. There were plenty of red cars that had pulled in, and some of them had been couples and families who needed a place to pull over and check their map for directions or ask the clerk inside.

The car’s driver side door popped open and a Soldier hopped out. All clad in blue, he looked rather formal. His usual helmet was gone, leaving his face open to see. The blood spatter on his jacket was apparent as was the cut on his lip. His eyes darted around wildly, like an animal searching for escape. When they landed on Hugh, his mind took in the revelation, sending him at a brisk walk towards Andrew.

Andrew rushed towards him, quickly closing that space. He flung his arms around the Frenchman, squeezing him so hard that he barely breathed. He did not mind, he needed this. He needed Andrew’s hug to remind him that the man was still alive and well. When the hug loosened, he took a deep breath of relief, enjoying the warmth of the arms that surrounded him. It was a form of bliss that nobody else would ever understand.

“Hugh!” he pulled away, setting his thick hands on Hugh’s shoulders. Hugh was surprised, blinking at the Soldier with confusion at the interruption of their reunion. “Maurice was taken hostage! We didn’t get the parts. But, we have to go back for him!” Andrew’s words pleaded with him and he knew that he could not say no to his request.

With a quiet nod, and a jerk towards the motel room where the doctor was working, he led the way there. He knocked lightly before stepping in, alerting the others to his presence. Not everybody turned to look, just a few people. All but one turned back to what they were doing. It was the Engineer who waved and smiled at Andrew in greeting.

“Maurice has been taken hostage!” Andrew proclaimed.

“Did you at least get the parts?” Miss Pauling asked, from where she was perched, with ice on her head.

“No,” Andrew’s shoulders sank, “I made it out, but without the parts. We need to go back!”

“We won’t be able to rescue him,” Maxwell interrupted, “Not as we are.”

“So, we’re just leaving him there?” Drake asked with disbelief.

“For now,” Miss Pauling interrupted, “We need him back, but we can’t risk going in in this condition.”

“Wait! But we don’t have any parts for Engie’s dispensers!” Andrew exclaimed.

“We’ll find another way,” Miss Pauling assured him.

“Uh…hello! Did everybody forget that Maurice is back at that base?” Drake interrupted loudly. He had this obnoxious tone of disbelief and anger.

“There is not much that we can do,” Maxwell admitted, “There are only so many of us, and most of us are unarmed.”

“True,” Hugh agreed, “And what little we have is barely enough to get us through another attack. We are low on ammunition as it is.”

“Well, isn’t that just perfect!” Drake threw his arms up in exaggeration of his words, “You guys are fine just leaving him there then?”

“He’ll have to wait for us,” Miss Pauling insisted, “We will do what we can, but we must get supplies first. Then we can go rescue him.”

“What if we reason with them?” Andrew asked, with an unsettled look about him. He looked so upset. Then it hit Hugh that he must have felt guilty for leaving his friend behind, while he made an escape.

In the end, it did not matter. He did the right thing by coming for reinforcements. Though, Hugh did wonder about his appearance and how it got to be so black and blue. He had not noticed it in the darkness outside, while in here the light was enough to show that half of his face was swelling with bruises.

“We can’t reason with them,” Maxwell shook his head in argument.

“What if we could?” Drake argued in Andrew’s defense.

“Likely wouldn’t do much good,” Miss Pauling said.

“But, you’re Miss Pauling!” Drake exclaimed, “Every base knows about you, right? All of them would know you. They would take your word.”

“Not likely anymore,” she argued, “If they haven’t alerted the teams to be on high alert of my presence, then the handlers at least know that I am currently not with Mann Co.”

“Well isn’t that just peachy!” Scout raised his voice with sarcasm.

“He will be fine though,” Miss Pauling insisted, with a hasty tone, “Protocol for something like this would stall any further action. The handlers will likely keep him hostage for questioning.”

“And what? You’re just gonna let him sit there?” Drake glanced between Andrew’s face and Miss Pauling. He was putting pieces together rather quickly. “You’re just going to let them torture him, while we pussy foot around like a bunch of babies? We’re mercenaries, Miss Pauling. We shouldn’t have to-”

“Drake, that’s enough,” Antoine’s voice cut through the noise.

There was a moment of silence, as the previously comatose man started speaking. It seemed almost like a shock of the dead coming back to life. The doctor seemed unperturbed though, going about his work at bandaging what was not being healed fast enough.

“At this time, we are at various disadvantages,” Antoine said, in a deep and almost commanding voice, “If we go in there, we can incur more damage that cannot be healed fast enough, and this medigun is not equipped for battle.”

Hugh felt a bite of guilt. Had he just thought to grab more of the formula, they would be fine. Still, the point Antoine was making was not focused on Hugh’s mistake, and he knew that.

“We have no sentries, no dispenser, very few weapons to speak of…we are outnumbered and out matched,” Antoine went on, “Going in there would be suicide at best.”

“And so we sit _here_ and do nothing? Is that what you’re saying?” Scout asked, with accusation on his tone.

“Yes,” Antoine stated firmly.

Scout was moving around with such distress, searching for an outlet for his frustration. When he found none, he came back in full force and volume, “You realize that they have _Maurice_ , right? He might not be that big a deal to you, but he’s a good friend to me! And I’m not going to have it on my mind that I let him sit there and get tortured- oh, I’m sorry **questioned**.” He wriggled fingers as quotation marks for that last word, emphasizing it for everybody.

Antoine’s eyes caught Hugh’s and their gazes met. His old friend had a thoughtful expression in his eyes, “If you managed to capture and enemy Spy on your base, what would you do?”

“An enemy Spy?” Hugh pondered aloud, “Depends on the Spy.”

“A RED Spy you had never met who had wandered onto your base,” Antoine added.

“To steal things,” Andrew put in.

“To steal things, yes,” Antoine agreed.

“Keep them for questioning,” Hugh shrugged, “Find out what base they are from and who they are working for.”

“The usual,” Antoine nodded in agreement.

“So what?” Scout interrupted, “So what? They’re gonna hurt him!”

“But, they’re not going to kill him,” Antoine said, with a patient tone.

“That’s what it all comes down to, son,” the Engineer gave Scout’s shoulder a pat, but the youth shook him off, as if offended by him.

Suddenly, Andrew spoke up to Scout, “Listen, Scout. None of us want to leave Maurice there. He is a good friend, not just to you. Some of us have history with him. But, we will all die if we go in there. Bottom line I see is that they won’t kill him. That means he will have to wait until we can come and rescue him. He will understand too, he’s good at understanding people.”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Drake sat outside with his arms on his knees. He was staring at the pool nearby. He was not going to do anything stupid, but he was tempted to take a dip. He was not thinking anything bad, but just really needed to clear his mind with some new stimulation.

“You ain’t thinkin’ of jumping into that cold water over there, are ya?” the Texan’s voice filled him with rage. He did not say or do anything though, playing it cool like a Spy would. “Trust me, it ain’t worth it,” the Engineer went on.

“Sure pal,” he put as much sarcasm as he could fit into his voice, “I trust you.”

The Engineer frowned at that, as he took a seat next to the Scout, “Now what are _you_ sore about? Maurizio? I wanna get him outta there as much as you, trust me.”

“No you don’t,” Scout growled.

The Engineer hesitated before saying, “Are you in love with him, son?”

Drake felt shocked at the question, “What?! No! No! No, I’m not!” He raised his hands, waving them defensively.

“Oh…good,” the Engineer said with a look of relief.

He was silent for a moment, trying to let the thought sink in. He liked girls not boys…or men. He did not like so much as the idea of touching a man that way. It made him want to cringe for a moment, feeling a bit sick with himself.

“What the hell would give you that idea?” Drake demanded.

“Well, you were pretty passionate in there…about helping Maurizio, I mean,” the Engineer explained.

“Man, is his name Maurice or Maurizio? I keep hearing people say different names,” Drake rubbed his eyes, a sign that they were growing a bit tired.

“Pretty sure his legal name is Maurizio,” the Engineer explained, “Maurice is just…like a nickname.”

Drake nodded with a sigh, “I can’t deal with this right now.” He rose to his feet, rubbing his face.

His dad was in one piece, and he was glad for that. Seeing him awake and hearing him talk had been a relief in and of itself. But, now he had to think about Maurice, probably the coolest guy he ever met, maybe not the best Spy but definitely a better people person than Antoine or Jacques, being put through miserable torture and having to wait for help. If Drake was in that position, he did not think he could last, he would give them all they wanted, figuring that nobody would come for him.

Well, maybe he would be sure that Antoine would come for him, and Soldier too. His dad had looked out for him more than he realized in the past, and he was aware of it now. Soldier was like a dad to him too, when he was on the same team. The Soldier had always been the kind of crazy dad who did not so much look after his kid, as he just led by example – a very obnoxious example.

“Maurice is a Spy,” the Engineer interrupted his thoughts, “He might be a kind person, a likeable guy, but he has it in him. He can take it. I don’t think he would have stayed behind for nothing.”

“I thought he was captured?” Drake spun to face him, with confusion on his face.

“You seen Solly’s face,” the Engineer stated, “They had him too, only he’s here. We been talking about what happened…and Solly did not get out of there by brute force.”

“Ah gee…” Scout scratched the back of his neck, looking down at the cement. That just made everything feel worse, knowing that Maurice would willingly sacrifice himself for a friend. If he would do it for the Soldier, he probably would have done it for the Scout too.

“But, like I said,” the Engineer got to his feet with a grunt, “Maurice is a Spy. His decisions are calculated, just like any other Spy’s. He is gonna be fine. He knows it. And he sent Andrew to get backup, he knows what we’re working with and that we’ll need time to back him. But…for all we know, he could have already worked his way out of there and be walking his sassy ass here.”

“Sassy ass?” Drake chuckled a little. That sounded really weird, something he was not sure could describe Maurice.

“You ever get a chance to _really_ know Maurizio, and you’ll know he’s the sassiest Spy you’ll ever meet,” the Engineer grinned with a chuckle.

“Yea…yea…” Drake let his thoughts trail off, not sure he wanted to know just what the Engineer was talking about, “I’m uh…I’m gonna head off to bed. Night Engie.”

“Night Scout,” the Texan called after him, as he headed inside to check on Antoine. He did not want to go to sleep, but he did want to be sure that his dad was back on his feet.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Andrew was glad that he had a moment alone with Hugh. In the lamplight, watching Hugh’s shadows on the floor, he felt barely distracted from his overwhelming thoughts of guilt. He could not help but think back to Maurice and how he had given up and sent Andrew on his way. Or at least, he assumed that Maurice knew that they had sent him on his way. It sure seemed like that, and he would not let them assume it any other way.

“Are you going to mope all night?” Hugh asked from across the room, pulling his balaclava off of his head, “I know you have a lot on your mind, but at least get that bloody jacket off.”

With a sigh, Andrew toddled over to strip down. He had not really noticed the blood on his clothes, which had probably come from the bleeding teeth and nose that had been broken earlier. It was strangely more painful when somebody had a medigun to heal a broken nose, so they could break it all over again. For all the times his nose was purposefully broken and his teeth were beat in, he was not sure how many teeth he had left, or if his nose was still broken.

“This is some brutish work,” Hugh slid a thumb over the darkening bruise.

“He punched me a lot,” Andrew explained, “He had a medigun with him, and he would punch me again.”

“Weird,” Hugh said, muttering something else in French.

“You think I was lucky to get out of there?” Andrew asked.

“I think that whoever is at that base is an amateur at best, and probably would not have caused as much harm as they threatened,” Hugh said, turning his eyes to meet Andrew’s gaze, “Though to be honest, I am pissed either way.” An ungloved hand went up to run the fingers through Andrew’s short blond hair. “And relieved that you are here…and alive.”

Andrew gave him a cocky smile, knowing that he would be a little irritated when he heard what he had to say, “I told him to do his worst!”

As he had expected, Hugh rolled his eyes, “Of course you did.”

Andrew’s smile drop, “Do you think Maurice will do the same?”

“I think if he’s a smart Spy, then he will give them what they want without giving them what they need,” he explained.

“I don’t understand what that means,” Andrew shook his head.

Hugh shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. It’s alright.”

“But, what if Maurice can’t take it?” he asked.

Andrew’s brow furrowed with worry as he thought about it. He knew Maurice to be a good friend, somebody he could count on, regardless of which team he was on. Maurice was the light of the party, in a way that even a Demoman could not manage. He was a good friend to everybody, and seemed to get on even his enemies’ good sides.

“He is a Spy,” Hugh offered, “An experienced mercenary. I am sure he can handle himself.”

Andrew nodded slowly. It did not ease his guilt, knowing he had left his friend behind to be questioned and tortured. When he thought about it more, he realized it was just added insult that he drove Maurice’s car away from the site. He felt horridly disgusting, just from thinking about this.

“Don’t think on it too much,” Hugh insisted, patting his shoulder, “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up. The bathrooms are fairly big, so you can enjoy a bath.”

Andrew sighed, pushing aside his thoughts for now. Maybe he just needed to clear his head with a nice hot bath. If he cleared his mind, he might even be able to gain the determination he needed to beat some sense into his old friend, that Demoman they met at the base.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maxwell meandered down the street in the direction that the Scout said the Engineer had gone. He watched for any signs of the Texan, unsure of his surroundings. He was still getting used to the city, even after almost a year of travelling from city to city throughout the States. He always felt unsettled by how many lights there were, as if somebody was watching him from the shadows. That feeling likely came from a lifetime of fighting with Spies behind his back.

He stayed close to the edge of the sidewalk, far from the vehicles passing by. He had learned the hard way that they tended not to care about pedestrians, paying attention instead to their conversations in the vehicle. In fact, he was sure he had seen more people stop to let squirrels or birds pass the street than people.

His head jerked up as the front door to a liquor store opened. The stout little Engineer toddled from the shop, with a brown bag in hand. He looked very miserable in his current state.

After having tried to make his own way, Maxwell had settled for following Dooley around the country. That proved awkward, given they were from two different eras and rarely had something in common to talk about. It was rare moments when they had something to work on with science that they actually got along perfectly. Then there were moments like this, when one of them was down and needed to be lifted by the other. If he thought about it, he was probably most often the mopey one, seeing how bitter and old he was, and given his lonely state of mind, due to losing the last love and family in his life.

Dooley had fewer moments of moping about, but this one seemed pretty bad. Given the man had avoided drink for months, saying it was for dietary reasons, he must have been in a pretty bad mood to go buy some. Maxwell would have bet that it had something to do with the recent events, though he was not sure how that all tied in together.

He pondered the possibilities as he waved down Dooley. The man saw him and started toddling his way. His walk was no longer confident, but of a deflated man. His head tilted forward, eyes directed at the ground in front of his feet, and his shoulders were sunken forward.

Perhaps it was the mere stress of everything. They had gotten the call with such hope that Miss Pauling would rescue them from this lifestyle. Granted, they would have to go back to their old lifestyle as mercenaries, but they had agreed that it was better than running. Always being chased by hunter mercenaries was a stress that no man should have to deal with, in Maxwell’s opinion.

Though, maybe it was more about the fear and paranoia he had been suffering through the hours after the Spy and the Scout arrived. The two had come with a medigun just in time, wide smiles on their faces, but as soon as the Spy turned sour about the Soldier and the RED Spy not turning up, so did Dooley. While the man had said very little about it in their time travelling together, it did not take his medical degree to see that there was something the Texan held for his fellow American. He always talked about him fondly as a friend, mentioning how they used to spend time together when Maxwell asked about the pictures he kept in his truck. Still, it was easy to see that without reciprocated feelings, there was something very strong there.

Maybe he was overthinking everything and the Engineer just really needed a beer. A man did not have to feel down and out of it in order to want a drink, did he? Sometimes, you just need a nice cold one to run down your throat. And all of what he was reading of his body language could just be exhaustion – maybe even relief that he had a drink in his hand.

Thinking about it, Max kind of wanted a nice German ale, not that he would find any of those around here. He would just find knock off and wannabe brands with German names that came from second or third generation Americans. None who would have lived in Germany and would have lived on a decent German lager.

As they met up, the expression on the Engineer’s face became more apparent. There was no relief there at all. In fact, he was not really sure the man was even tired. Maybe he could be up all night, until the drink kicked him down, that was. It was easy enough to read the expression of guilt on the Engineer’s face.

“Hey there,” the Engineer greeted, with a half-assed smile.

“You’re not drinking that alone, are you?” Maxwell asked, noting just how big the bottle in the bag seemed to be.

Dooley looked at his brown bag and then shrugged at him, “Why? Ya need a drink, partner?”

“I’m more worried, than anything,” Max admitted, “I would hate for something to go wrong tomorrow because of you being hung over.”

“Why would I be hung over?” he offered another smile. It was so inauthentic that it made Maxwell want to barf.

“You have nothing to feel guilty about, you know,” Max added, hoping to ease the man’s mind.

“What?” he blinked up at him, “What do you mean?”

Maxwell wanted to roll his eyes at hearing such a familiar response of feigned ignorance. It was not something that came often from Dooley, but he was familiar with such fakery. He began to wonder just what it was that made him feel this way.

“You don’t hide it so well,” he said, remaining vague so that Dooley could fill in the blanks for himself, “It is written all over your face.”

Dooley frowned, “That bad, huh?”

Maxwell nodded as they fell into step together. Dooley lengthened his stride, while Max shortened his, to make up for their size difference.

“Want to talk about it?” Max pressed, hoping to make the man feel somewhat better in some way. He had a bit of curiosity too, but he would not admit to that being a factor in his questioning.

“Not necessarily,” Dooley sighed, “Not much that’ll do.” The Engineer shrugged dramatically.

“So you’re just going to wallow in it?” he pressed, hoping to make the man fess up.

“A’right, fine,” Dooley nodded, “I’ll talk about my feelings. I feel like shit. I feel like the lowest piece of shitty dirt right now.”

“You’re not,” Maxwell patted his shoulder, hoping to assure him.

Dooley stopped in his tracks and opened the bottle. He tilted it back, taking a few deep gulps of it. He sighed with relief at finally getting down some alcohol. Maybe that would help him open up about how he was feeling.

“It don’t matter what you think,” Dooley said pointedly, “It’s about the unnecessary situation I’ve gone and put myself in. I figure it’s been building up to this. It’s my own fault anyways.” He took another gulp of the drink.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” he asked, now confused by the Engineer’s words.

“You know back then? Back when everything started…when I made everything go to shit because I let Mann Co use me?” Dooley offered.

Maxwell nodded, biting back every urge to wince or cry. He wanted to avoid those memories, but as they crept forward, he could not help but feel the trembling sensational need to weep. He had yet to recover from losing his love.

“I…it was my fault then,” he paused to take another drink, “And it was all over feelings for another, who already has another. You know…I really like Solly. I do, I like him a lot. I’m aware it’d never work out and such, but that doesn’t stop the heart from feeling…or hurting. And in the end, that was all that mattered, was that I was feeling. And now, I gotta keep my nose outta what’s going on, cause it’s that Spy who gets to tell him he is gonna be okay and hold the ice on his face.”

Maxwell bit back all the words. He had speculated that he might be feeling this way, but he had not thought so thoroughly through such an emotion. This was so raw and deep that it was starting to make even Max hurt.

“And with all of the stress lately…and going back to this mercenary engineering shit…I really just want to drink myself into the ground,” Dooley admitted, taking yet another swig of his drink.

“You’re going to kill yourself with alcohol?” Max asked.

“No,” Dooley looked at the bag in his hand, “But it does help numb the pain.” He held it out to him, in a silent offering.

Max accepted, taking the drink to his lips. It was bitter and off-putting, but at the same time it was strong. It was pretty good in regards to knocking a man off of his senses, even if the taste was atrocious.

He handed the swill back, “Am I going to have to deal with an Engineer that has a hang over in the morning?”

Dooley chuckled, “I’ll try not to drink so much more. Maybe it’d help if you drank it with me.” He took another drink, despite his words, then offered it to Max again. “You know the worst part of all of this?”

Max took another drink before he spoke, “What is that?”

“Maurizio- I mean, the Spy…he’s up there in that base, having who knows what done to him, he ain’t done anything but be good to us, and I sent him up there,” he frowned, the final nail hitting the coffin.

“You could not have known that would happen,” Maxwell offered, “There are so many possibilities, that you could not have isolated the chance that he would have been captured while retrieving parts for your dispenser. It is not like you made him. He was not even begrudging. He will woefully willing to help you.”

“That just makes it worse,” Dooley said, with a wince, “He’s always a good friend, even as a Spy.”

“You two worked together for a long time, right?” Max asked, curiously.

He nodded in response, “Yea. Knew each other a long time. From the start of my work with Mann Co, even. A flirty Spy, a sassy mouth, and a good friend.” He took another long drink to drown out his own words.

“But it is not your fault,” Maxwell insisted, “You should not drag yourself down like this. It is unhealthy and it will not help us to get the Spy back.”

“I know,” Dooley sighed, handing over the drink. He had this forlorn look, like he had given up. Perhaps he had given up on the bottle of booze altogether. “It does not help that I feel so guilty for sending him up there for parts I could probably wait and get someplace else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Andrew, feeling guilty about leaving Maurizio behind.


	21. Spy’s Job is Never Ever Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio has to outwit this team of BLU mercenaries.  
> Drake is feeling down about his pal being captured.  
> Antoine just wants to get some damn sleep.  
> Hugh has some information about what is really going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to come out days ago. Like almost a week ago. But, my computer has witnessed the blue screen, and there is no fixing it. In the meantime, chapters will be slow again.

Maurizio sat as comfortably as he could in this solid backed wooden chair. He would be here a while, he could tell. From the way everybody was behaving, he was not sure any of this was a protocol procedure either.

Not that most bases had procedure. But, Bleu had taught him that there was no better hostage situation, than one where all of the cogs had been oiled and everybody knew what they were supposed to be doing. Because, looking at this team, it was evident that they were split on this.

“He’s not _the_ RED Spy though,” the Scout said, with uncertainty.

“He still works for RED,” the Spy said, picking up some tools.

He did not have any tools about when he was questioning Andrew, instead keeping the Medic at close call. Now he was not asking the Medic to stick around, but the man was hovering in the entrance. Even with as little as he knew of torture, Maurizio knew there needed to be better organization than this.

“I think we should call in Miss Pauling,” the Scout argued.

“Take your leave Scout, you are not needed here,” the Spy growled at the Scout, motioning to the door.

“I am not from the other base,” Maurizio nodded in agreement with the Scout, “So what do you want from me?”

“The real question is what you wanted from here,” the Spy turned back to him, with a thin sliver of a blade in hand.

Maurizio eyed the blade warily, “I told you why we came here. We were sent by Miss Pauling, due to an emergency, to pick up a medigun and supplies for a dispenser.”

“And you still think I’m buying it,” the Spy said, snidely.

“Spy, what if he’s telling the truth though?” the Scout asked.

“H-he’s a RED,” the Medic argued.

“So?” Scout shrugged.

“Lemme at him!” he heard the Soldier call from outside the door, “I’ll beat the answers out of him! The questions too! In fact, I’ll beat everything out of the RED! Let me at him!”

“Easy there, Soldier,” the Engineer’s voice approached the door, “Lemme in, doc.”

The Medic stepped out of the way, letting the Engineer and the Demoman step inside. The Engineer approached the captive tied in the chair, but the Demoman hung back, leaning against the wall. The Engineer gave the Spy a nod.

“Settle down there, partner,” he said, “Didn’t ya use enough of your tools on the Soldier?”

“I took it easy on the Soldier,” the Spy played with the blade between his fingers, “I won’t be so nice to a _RED_ Spy.”

“You don’t have to take your anger for that guy out on this guy,” the Engineer insisted.

“He is still a RED,” the Spy continued flipping the blade around, as if trying to show off some skill he had learned, “I can if I want to.”

“Don’t do it, lad,” the Demoman said, never moving from his spot.

All eyes turned to the Demo. There was a silent question in the air, a feeling like there was something missing. Perhaps it was just Maurizio impressing his own thoughts on his surroundings, but he got this feeling that in that moment, the Demoman was being reminded that he somehow did not belong. Perhaps it was time to take advantage of that, just a little bit.

“Wait a minute? Forbes? Forbes, is that you?” he asked, chuckling to himself.

Alarmed eyes went back to the Spy. He merely smiled off their alarmed expressions. Forbes looked a bit nervous as he pushed off of the wall he had been leaning on. His eye jumped around at the others, who were no longer looking at him.

“Do I know you?” the Demoman asked him.

Maurizio frowned, “What the…how many Italian Spies do you actually know?”

“ _Do you_ know this fella?” the Engineer asked, throwing a thumb at the Spy.

The Demoman’s eye flickered between the Spy and the Engineer warily. He was a bit afraid, that much Maurizio was sure of. But, maybe putting some of the pressure on the Demoman would get him out of a tight spot.

“Right…the RED devil from Mexico,” Forbes nodded.

“So still an enemy,” the BLU Spy pushed his blade towards Maurizio’s throat.

“You will find that I am not like the other RED mercenaries! Wasn’t I? Forbes! Tell them!” he pleaded, as he felt his chair lean backwards. Frightened, he started to try to catch his balance, but everything was tied down, and he was at the other Spy’s mercy.

Pure honest terror started to sink in. Maybe it was the thought that maybe Forbes would just let him die, that choosing to get him involved made things worse. Or perhaps it was just that feeling of falling, especially of falling backwards, with no way of catching oneself on their hands.

He looked up at the BLU Spy, who was glaring down at him. There was something so remarkably haughty about him. Maurizio would admire it more, if not for his predicament. Being tied down and falling backwards was not exactly the best moment to absorb another’s good qualities.

Then again, Maurizio was never good at staying on a task the way others did it. He usually did things his way, and that often absolved to his own way of solving a problem. He took the moment to admire that face, imagining just what he must look like behind his mask, curious as to how much he was hiding. Considering his low skill with a knife, and what little skill he had was poorly executed with shaky and uncertain hands that were still not fully practiced in the art, the man was probably not the best Spy. Perhaps he could be a decent actor though.

“It doesn’t matter if you are _like_ the other REDs or not,” the BLU Spy lowered his tone, trying to sound menacing.

“That’s enough, alright?” the Engineer barked.

Maurizio leaned his head up a bit, trying to look at the Engineer. He was grateful to the effort of keeping him from torture, so he might as well show a smile of gratitude. He could be more gratuitous once he was out of the ropes.

“Come on,” the Engineer beckoned to the Spy, “Let’s have a talk.”

“I want to speak with Demoman,” the chair straightened back up as the Spy turned his attention to the one eyed man standing close to the wall.

“Aye? About what?” Forbes spoke for himself. The man was just as bold as Maurizio remembered him.

“Let’s talk…” the Spy glanced at Maurizio, before he started towards the door, “Outside.”

“Alright,” Forbes gave the Engineer some sort of subtle nod, before following the Spy out.

When the door closed, a thick silence fell over the room. It was more than a little eerie. It made Maurizio shift a little bit, his instincts wishing to make small talk with his captor in order to pass the time in this never wavering silence.

Before he could actually make a sound, the Engineer strode towards him, thick arms wrapped over his chest, “You’re causing quite a stir, partner.”

“Apologies,” he offered his gratuitous smile again, “That was not my intention.”

“Thing is…” the man shifted from boot to boot, his gaze hidden behind goggles, “Pauling ain’t with us no more.”

“Excuse me?” Maurizio was a bit of confused by the wording of what the Engineer said.

“Anybody in the know knows this,” the Texan lost his luster, taking on a grimacing frown.

“Anybody in the know?” he repeated, testing the words on his tongue with a provocative question for explanation. Sure, he knew what the man meant, but he was not sure what it meant for him if he answered one way or another.

“Anybody in the know would know that Miss Pauling has a target on her head,” the Engineer explained.

That would explain the snipers coming after her, he thought. He was in the know himself and he did not know this. Although he doubted this stranger would believe him if he told him so. His best chance was to make everything out like he was an oblivious Spy.

“I was not given such information,” he stated, in a flat tone.

“Don’t toy with me, I know you probably think you can wiggle out of this one, but you cannot,” the Engineer snarled, “I take Forbes at his word. But you mentioned Miss Pauling.”

“Yes…and?” he pressed, acting ignorant.

“And you cannot just go around causing a stir!” the Engineer raised his voice, “That itself is pissing me off and making things complicated. Do you know how difficult it is to keep these people from asking questions? This crew ain’t like previous generations!”

He blinked at the Engineer, “How am _I_ causing a stir?”

“By being here!” the Engineer said angrily.

“But there _is_ a RED Spy on the other base, sí?” he pressed his luck.

“ _He’s_ French!” the Engineer exclaimed, with a frustrated sigh, “You can’t just go around making mercenaries aware of the other bases. That’s when they start asking questions. As it is, I can’t keep their backs off of me about the Medigun, the dispenser and especially respawn. Damn questioning like kids!”

“Aware of the other bases?” he paused, seeing a ticket into his portrayal of ignorance, “I mean…multiple bases makes sense, does it not? It seems like it should be common sense. I just never thought about it before Miss Pauling told me about it. Strange to think that just two days ago I didn’t even know this base existed! Now I’m tied to a chair in an enemy base of a place that I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know until two days ago?” he looked surprised.

“No,” he shook his head, “What a surprise, but not a big deal, when you think about it.”

“Wait a minute, what about that BLU Soldier?” the Engineer snapped, “Soldiers, even that Soldier, don’t wrap their heads around things too well!”

He shrugged, “Think he’s known a while.”

“So you tricked us into sending off a handler…wait…so you’re _not_ a handler?” the man looked so bewildered at finding this out.

“Handler of what?” he blinked at him again, feigning confusion.

“You know what?” the man took a deep breath and raised his arms up, “I give up. Alright? But, you ain’t got a ticket outta here, son.”

“I didn’t ask you for a ticket,” Maurizio put just a bit of confusion in his tone, “I just want to be heard out.”

“And I heard you. And I ain’t letting no more mercenaries workin’ for Pauling loose!” he barked.

“What about the Administrator?” he offered.

“That woman’s probably dead, don’t try to-” he cut off as the door behind him opened. He turned, looking to see Forbes and the Spy.

Forbes merely shrugged. The Spy glanced between the Engineer and Maurizio, “I suggest that we take interrogation to the next level.”

“And what the Sam hill does that mean?” the Engineer scoffed.

“I disagree with him on that,” Forbes said, giving the Spy a defiant glare.

“What say you, Engineer?” the Spy had a taunting tone, like there was something at stake, “Whose side are you really on?”

The Engineer flinched, “What you insinuating, snake?”

“Just that it is curious that you would favor an enemy Spy,” he commented.

“That is not how it is!” Forbes argued.

“Alright son…you want your interrogation so bad? You have fun,” the Engineer turned to point at Maurizio, whose face was growing red, “He doesn’t leave this base until Ad- uh…the Administrator sends somebody to pick him up.”

“Like Miss Pauling?” the Spy offered.

Forbes’ eye lingered on the Spy with wary contempt. His glare meandered towards Maurizio and it did not really change much. Though perhaps there was some pity for the friendly RED.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Drake felt like a cowering idiot, hiding in the motel room, waiting to hear of some sort of change. So far, the only good news he had had was that Andrew was back and Antoine’s head was healed. Granted, that was two good things, but that did not make the guilt and worry go away when he thought of the other RED Spy.

“What do you reckon they are doing to him?” he spoke softly.

“Hmm?” a pained groan came from the other side of the pillow barrier that divided himself from Antoine.

“To…Maurice…” he said hesitantly, “You don’t think they’re torturing him, do you? Not like…uh…”

“Scout, there’s nothing we can do about it right now,” the older man growled, “Go back to sleep!”

Scout sighed softly, his attention undeterred despite his elder’s attitude, and the chainsaw snoring coming from the other bed. He was unfettered in his worry. His thoughts pleaded for some sort of answer, a relief to the question that was his friend’s safety. As little as they could do about it, was as little he could do about these troublesome feelings.

“But, what if somethin’ bad happened to him? Like…something really bad? Something you can’t fix? Like…something doc can’t fix,” he turned onto his back and sat up to look at the Spy.

Antoine turned his head to give him an irritable look from behind the balaclava. It baffled him that the man was still set on wearing that balaclava. Even now, so far away from actual work. They were not even that close to a base.

“If he is harmed already, then there is nothing we can do,” Antoine growled, “What is done is done. If we don’t get some decent sleep though, we won’t be able to help him.”

Drake huffed in frustration and threw himself down on the sheets. He crossed his arms and tried to push it all out of his mind. It was impossible to do, as his last memory of Maurizio returned.

A soft knocking disturbed that memory, causing both him and Antoine to stir. Surprisingly, although considering the snoring, probably not too surprising, neither of the other two mercenaries were bothered. He started to get up out of bed, when he heard a soft French voice speaking through the door.

Antoine sighed and replied something in French, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. Drake settled back down with a sigh, wriggling down into the sheets to return to the warmth he had built up already. Still, his mind became busy with curiosity for why Jacques had come to talk to Antoine at this hour. What did they need to talk about?

Curious, he waited for the door to close behind him, before he carefully crawled out of the bed. He crept cautiously to the door, listening for any signs that might give him away. He carefully pressed his ear to the door, but to his dismay all he could hear was a bunch of French babble.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Disgruntled, Antoine managed to drag himself out to meet with Hugh. He hoped that Scout might just fall asleep while he was gone. It was not like there was anybody else to talk to in there. Both the Engineer and the Medic had easily gone to sleep. It was awkward enough that he had to share space, and especially share a bed.

Hugh looked like he had been rested and was ready for the day. He held two mugs of fresh coffee in hand, reaching out to put one in Antoine’s hands. Given they were working on the same side again, like old times, he figured he could let his guard down around his old colleague a little. He accepted the drink with a thank you as Hugh proceeded to explain both what he saw at the base and what the Soldier described to him.

He nodded in agreement when Hugh assessed that the damage was done by an amateur. Their Spy was not trained, perhaps had no real experience outside of Mann Co. Considering he was a BLU and the captive Spy was a RED, they both came to the conclusion that he was likely already facing worse torture than Andrew had.

“It’s like I told Scout,” he downed the last of his coffee, “We cannot do anything to help him yet.”

Hugh nodded, with a pensive hum. He sipped his own coffee cautiously, not wanting to burn his tongue on the steamy liquid. Antoine had gone right for it, burning the inside of his mouth without a care, which perhaps was just from being tired. Hugh was stubbornly avoiding that though.

“How is your head?” Hugh asked, casually switching the tone of the conversation.

“I’m fine,” he touched the top of his balaclava, a fresh balaclava, since his previous one had been soiled with his own blood. He was glad he kept a spare in a hidden suit pocket.

“Good,” Hugh gave him a nod, “We need you.”

“Somehow I doubt that you actually need the help of another Spy,” Antoine noted.

“Don’t beat yourself down, there’s no reason for it,” Hugh said, in an irate tone.

“I’m not,” he reached for his cigarettes, before realizing that he was not wearing his suit jacket, “I am merely implying that you have the skills to handle two Spies’ worth of work.”

Hugh laughed at that, giving a hearty shake, “Yea, well…this is more than the two Spies that I am can handle. I could use the two that you are.”

“So what exactly do you have planned?” he asked.

“Well, the Sniper by the graveyard was not targeting you and Scout,” he explained.

“Oui, else he would have targeted us while our backs were turned. Get to the point,” he said, hoping to hurry him along. He really wanted a cigarette.

Hugh hesitated, reaching into a pocket of his robe. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and handing it to him. He put another in his mouth and lit it up before offering him the lighter. He gratefully puffed on the cigarette as it burned to life within the golden flame that was held out to him. The lighter snapped shut and slipped easily into the pocket it came from, along with the smokes, before Hugh resumed.

“Pauling is the prime target,” he went on, “And up until recently, we have not known why. What we do know is that the Administrator’s signatures are being forged to it. Several Saxton Hale clones have been brought into the mix. And there is a lot Miss Pauling hadn’t been telling any of us.”

“But of course,” Antoine nodded, “There is always something more to hide, isn’t there?”

“It’s more than just a few lies here and there,” he explained, “There are bases that are unheard of. Teams of clones. Teams of mutants. Teams of robots that think they are living clones of humans.”

“Your point is murkier than when you started,” Antoine rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on from the lack of sleep. He really needed to get his usual rest.

“The middle woman to all of this is Miss Pauling,” he explained, “And the reason they want her dead is because she is no longer cooperating.”

“I think that would be an easy answer to come to,” he noted, giving Hugh a curious look.

His colleague nodded, “That is where it becomes more complicated. You see, she hasn’t necessarily said no to the Administration’s demands. She has not outright defied them. That is where her defiance becomes murky itself. But have wanted her to do and say certain things without being up front about it.”

“Well, isn’t that just so hard?” Antoine teased.

They both had a chuckle over that. People nowadays grew more and more frustrated with subtlety. There was no using subtlety, with truth, sarcasm, or just about anything in life. But, this was their line of work.

“Their intentions were not fully palpable at the surface,” Hugh went on, “It took some digging to find their real intentions. The attempted reassignments and changing. They don’t care for the mercenaries that don’t fall into line the way they want.”

“You mean…like your Soldier?” perhaps he stepped over the line there. He could definitely see the salty mirth from the other man in response to this.

“Men like the Sniper they targeted fit the profile for what they _really_ want,” he explained.

“Straight laced mercenaries,” Antoine scratched his chin.

“You fit the profile,” Hugh went on.

“I doubt that,” Antoine argued.

“They have been keeping Spies out of the handler business. You were made an exception for a reason,” the other insisted.

“And why is that?” he rolled his eyes.

“Trust,” he answered.

“What?” he frowned. He was not the trusting type and he doubted that Mann Co Productions trusted him.

“They wanted you to let your guard down, even just a little,” Hugh explained, “So that when the time comes, you’ll be more ready than ever to answer the call.”

“I doubt I would,” Antoine growled, hating the assessment.

“Well, it is not what I would have thought anyways,” Hugh explained.

“I thought you just said that I fit the profile?” he argued.

Hugh shook his head, “Profiles can tell you a lot about a person. They cannot tell you about the person as a person. I know you well enough to know better than to assume that.”

“Alright,” Antoine shook his head and stomped his cigarette out on the ground, “If we’re done here, I would like to get back to bed. I have a massive headache brewing.”

“Alright,” Hugh stepped on the butt of his own cigarette, “Take care of that head of yours. See the Medic.”

“When he stops snoring,” Antoine commented, as he headed to the door to his room.

He was surprised to open it and find Drake. The boy had not lasted long, it seemed, propped up beside the door. He had not expected his curiosity, but he must have grown bored of listening to a language he did not understand.

With a bitter sigh, he bent to pick the young man up. Even full grown, he was light enough for him to lift. Still, he wished he were smaller, like when he was thirteen and barely meeting the same heights as the other boys. He would have liked starting over with Scout that young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything still feels like nonsense, even though I've got the finished puzzle in front of me. Is it making sense to anybody else?  
> Don't worry about Maurizio too much.  
> Drake is like that guy that considers any acquaintance a friend and every friend is a brother (or sister.)


	22. Consistently Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio is a captive at a BLU base. Trying to get out, he finds that the BLUs are eerily persistent at keeping an innocent RED Spy locked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I am adding more tags. There is more to this story than I thought there would be when I started it.

Maurizio could hardly be asked to wipe the smug smirk from his face. The man beside him barely noticed anyways. Mentally praising himself, he took a deep puff of his cigarette, enjoying it to the fullest. He earned that damn cigarette and the right to smirk about his success.

Everything hurt right now. His eye was swollen and sore from a bruise. His ear had a cut on it. There was a slice mark on the side of his neck. Lash marks on his back all the way down to the backs of his knees. Burn marks on his arms and front criss-crossed each other, some from cigarettes and some from wax. It all stung with the fresh scratch marks from nails that dug into him when he brought the whole act to its perfect climax.

Relishing in the afterglow of his results, he glanced over the heaving body strewn out next to him. The man was difficult to crack, but he was well worth it. He had a few mere scratch marks from Maurizio’s nails, paling in pain in comparison to the RED masked Spy. That reminded him that his mask was the only piece of clothing left hiding his identity. He felt rather grateful that the Spy somehow had the forethought not to try and take it off. He was not sure what exactly he would have done if the man had managed to get his balaclava off.

Keeping his gloves and balaclava on were just icing on the cake of this victory. Gloating in his own head, he almost did not notice the other Spy moving on the bed, shifting his legs and then walking off to a bathroom attached to the far end of the room.

He watched him go with a satisfied smirk. While not as attractive to him as some of his previous lovers, the _significantly_ younger man had a very nice backside. Just another metaphorical trophy to add to his collection from this very astounding turn of events.

“It’s going to be my head if you say anything about this,” he heard the man swearing softly. His faux French accent had long since worn off to portray his Canadian-American roots. He was French Canadian, but still American. “You realize that means trouble for you,” the man came back to lean on the doorframe, looking at him from the bathroom entrance.

Maurizio gave him a quirked eyebrow, questioning his context. Still, his eyes meandered over the man’s form. Well, at least one good eye meandered over his form, as the other was having trouble staying open.

“Who said I would be making trouble for you though?” Maurizio asked.

The younger man started towards him, strolling casually towards the bed in a nonchalant manner. He was trying a bit too hard, weary from previous activities and no longer of at full mental capacity. It was a wonder to watch a man be brought to such a weak stage in functioning. He was probably just too used to the time he spent with one person.

“I don’t take your word for it,” the man replied, giving him a slight glare.

Maurizio put his hands up defensively in response, “Fine. Don’t take my word for it. Take the reality that if we were found out we would deal with worse than your friends _Engineer_ and _Demoman_.”

The BLU Spy made a thoughtful humming noise in his throat, “I don’t trust you.”

 

Maurizio found himself stuffed in a closet between wheat barley and towers of cans of beans. He would not have been so bothered by his situation, if not for the cans having this soft-edged, tab open top shape to them. The cans could have been his ticket out, given sharp edges could have worked for cutting, but he found himself deliberately rubbing the ropes against edges too smooth and trying to crack through aluminum full of liquid and beans. He was going to need more force if he was going to open a can and turn it into a makeshift knife.

Throughout the day, the BLU Spy came to check up on him. However, he did not seem to be aware that the Engineer had found out where he had been stashed. He paid him two visits, one to make it clear that he knew where the RED Spy had been hidden, and the second to bring him a meal, which the Spy had not.

He smiled, grateful for the food, since he had not eaten since early the day before. So much had happened since his last meal and his aching belly was ravenous for something cooked, given he could not seem to get the bean cans open with his hands behind his back.

“I was starting to worry he’d starve you ‘til you started cracking open our bean cans,” the Texan said, as he untied the ropes on his wrists.

Maurizio rubbed his wrist as he accepted the meal into his lap. He gave another grateful smile. His mind worked quickly on the next steps. He hatched the plan of escaping before the Engineer left. If he kept him talking for a while, he would relax and his defenses would go down. He would be much slower to react if Maurizio made a run for it.

His growling stomach made his decision certain and he started eating the meal. He made small talk and polite conversation from the American gentleman. It seemed like they could easily get along. Of course, it was similar with many other Engineers, but it was nice to know that this one was just as pleasant as other friends he had made in the past.

After a while though, he started to grow tired. In fact, he realized that his body was sleepy and he really wanted to lay down and take a nap. He was only halfway through the meal, and while it was rather filling, he was sure that his stomach needed more. At the same time, his tired mind was weighing too heavily for his stomach to take anymore. He set the dish down and cradled his head, rubbing his forehead in hopes of stimulating himself to wake up.

“Gettin’ sleepy, partner?” the Engineer asked, in an inferring tone.

Maurizio stared up at him, unable to make a proper glare, “You drugged me.”

“It’s only for your own good, partner,” the man shook his head, “I can only monitor Spy so closely. I know he is just tryin’a be good at his job, but he ain’t so quick like you types from the old days.”

“What do you mean?” he fumbled for understanding as his head started bobbing. He could not keep his eyes from closing anymore.

“Just…I’m just gonna bring you someplace safer than a closet,” he said, giving Maurizio a demeaning pat on the head.

 

When he woke, he found his hands and feet were not even bound. The softness of a couch was underneath his body, with his face pressed into the armrest. He raised his head slowly, looking around to get his bearings.

The Demoman grunted from the chair he was sitting in near the couch. Maurizio quickly assessed the layout of this room, with the couch and chair angled to view a television set. A desk nearby covered in what appeared to be computer parts. Likely a place for the Engineer to work, but with the added carpeting and the shelves of books – namely manuals and encyclopedias – he could not imagine where he was.

Bases did not typically have rooms with carpeting. The television and couch hinted at a recreational room, but it was too small for that. He frowned and looked around, searching for signs.

“Relax, lad,” the Demoman said, pausing to take a drink from his glass bottle, “You’re in a private room.”

“What private room?” he tried to blink the sleepiness from his vision, “A bedroom?”

“No,” the Demoman shifted, turning to get a better look at the Spy, “It’s a monitoring room we use to keep a close watch on the team.”

“The monitor room?” he blinked at the room around him again.

“Not like the one we have downstairs,” the Demo took another drink of his liquor, “Spy doesn’t even know about this place.”

Maurizio slowly sat up, feeling very heavy and weary. His body did not want to be moving. A couch was also not the best choice of bedding, leaving him with some odd aches from the position he slept in.

“Just sit tight here for now,” Forbes insisted, “You should be glad Engie brought you up here. Spy’s not right in the head, even for a Spy.”

Maurizio paused, his eyes caught by the monitors. There was a recreational room where the Scout, the Soldier and the Pyro were watching something on a television. There was a kitchen where the Sniper was drinking a beer as he lounged by the table. A garage monitor revealed that the Heavy was working on a large piece of machinery. Finally, his eyes found the Engineer and the Spy in a hallway monitor, arguing with each other. The volume was not loud enough for him to here, so their argument went on wordlessly for him.

“He’s pretty pissed off,” Forbes added, “But, he’ll deal with it.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any harm,” Maurizio said, rubbing his head. He felt like he had hardly slept at all.

“You did anyways,” Forbes put in, “And what did you think stealing some parts would do? You’ve stirred up a lot of shit for us to deal with.”

“It was not my intention,” Maurizio insisted, “But Miss Pauling, she-”

Forbes raised a hand to stop him, “I don’t wanna hear about Miss Pauling. That’s the last person I want to hear about. I don’t care if she is dead or alive. I have nothing against the woman, personally. But, the investors holding my contract don’t have anything polite to say about her.”

“That’s not my prerogative,” Maurizio argued, “Nor my worry to know. In fact, the Engineer seemed to think that everybody in the know should know about something. Is there something going around that nobody’s told me? About Miss Pauling, I mean.”

Forbes leaned a bit closer on his chair, sitting upon the edge of the cushion, “Rumor has it that the company’s cut her loose.”

Dread hit him. That was why Pauling was on the high end loose. Sure, it seemed like she was rallying troops to defend from something, but this could very well show evidence of something else going on. Did she really have an ulterior motive though? He would like to think not, then again he would not put it past her to be as sneaky as the other RED Spy.

“She’s a nice lady, but she’s made too many decisions the upper hands don’t like,” Forbes explained, “She’s a loose cannon and could spell trouble for the company.”

Maurizio nodded slowly, before suddenly shaking his head. It did not matter whether it was Miss Pauling or not. As little as he trusted other Spies, he was certain Andrew’s BLU Spy would not lie. The Soldier gave his word on everything, and he basically poured his own life on his lover’s words. Maurizio would not turn his back on that.

At least they had the medigun though. That meant that Miss Pauling, Drake and the other RED Spy would be fine. Their injuries would be taken care of and they would be one step closer to their goal. Whatever the case, he wanted his friends, at least Andrew and Drake – and definitely Andrew’s love and Drake’s apparently friendly Spy – to survive whatever was to come their way.

Before his mind could dwell too long on the curiosity of why Drake might befriend the RED he had hated most during their time working together, he shook himself back to reality. He shook his head, “No! That’s not what’s going on. We found no evidence of that!”

Forbes gave him a perplexed look with that one eye blinking like he was not sure what Maurizio was talking about. Perhaps the man had already downed a few too many drinks to keep up with the topic Maurizio was placing before him. It was probably not a good idea to share any of the information he knew about what was going on either.

As little as it had been, Miss Pauling was not the only one. She was not alone, as she had a small army. And this small army consisted of some of the best Spies Mann Co had, who had secured that somebody was forging Administrator signatures and creating Saxton Hale clones. That definitely explained the sudden appearance of a man who was pronounced dead long ago.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, but there’s a war coming,” he stated, “This whole…show…thing…that’s going on? It’s a sham.”

The Demoman’s eyelid lowered as he gave him a deadpan glare, “You realize that I have been working with Mann Co Productions on this since the eighties, right?”

“I realize that,” he put up his hands defensively, “That’s now what I mean. I mean, it has recently become a sham.”

“It’s still a show,” Forbes argued.

“It’s a breeding ground for the next army of killers,” he explained.

Forbes rubbed his forehead, “I am really not in the mood to be talking with you in riddles, lad.”

“I assure you, this is not a-” he cut off as the monitors caught his eye. The Engineer was moving, likely coming towards this room. While he felt he could talk to the Demoman, he was not so sure about the Engineer.

 

After hours upon hours of just waiting in that room, unsure of the time of day due to the lack of windows, Maurizio finally found something that might help him. It was a small pin that had accidentally been dropped in the carpeting. Thank goodness for carpeting, which could hide such insignificant items that could be of service when creativity was applied.

He glanced over at the lounge chair and found that Forbes had fallen asleep. Smirking to himself, he crept towards the door on careful toes. He was once again thankful for carpet, as it was easier to walk across the room without making very much sound.

The door had an interesting lock on it, meaning that it locked from both sides with keys. It required a key to open every time. And while he could search Forbes for a key, he was doubtful that that would go over well. Even as a drunk, Forbes was a light sleeper, and would likely beat the shit out of him if he woke him up. He was not looking forward to the idea of his eye being swollen shut again, not after the dispenser the Engineer placed had already healed him.

Dispenser parts or no dispenser parts, he was getting out of here. He was going to get away from this base and get back to his friends. Likely they had moved on, but perhaps they had had the decency to leave his car behind. Thinking on it though, they were mercenaries, and likely counted him as dead.

The thought made him feel a little depressed. He could believe that the Scout and even the Soldier would protest and want to come rescue him. But he could also believe that the others would convince the two that it was not worth their time. No doubt the rest of them were indifferent to Maurizio’s survival, let alone his freedoms.

He paused at the door, listening to the other man’s snoring. He was something of a light sleeper, after all, so the Spy would have to be careful. He kept his attention on that sound as he cautiously slipped the pin in and worked the locking system inside of the door handle.

It was a difficult task that took a long time, but his heart skipped a beat when the door suddenly came ajar. Grabbing it to keep it silent, he glanced over at the Demoman sleeping on the lounge chair ignorantly. He took a careful breath, steadying his adrenaline rush as he stepped out the door.

It opened up to a small dark compartment that was made mostly of plywood. He moved to one wall, searching carefully for an entrance. He was dismayed to find a trap door, as he had to crawl through it to get out.

It turned out that this trap door led straight into the Engineer’s workshop. The man himself turned from something he was working on at his workbench, to see the RED Spy crawling out of the trap door. He flinched visibly, not sure what to do at first.

Startled, and not wanting to be trapped in captivity again, Maurizio took off. He hurried out of the Engineer’s workshop and down the hallway. Unfortunately, he had none of his regular tools. The invis watch, the dead ringer, his switch blades, the sleeve blades, his butterfly knife, and his revolver had all been taken by the BLU Spy while he was being tortured. To his luck, however, he had managed to convince the Spy to let him keep his clothes, as the man had no real concept of how a pat down was supposed to work, meaning that he had missed the spare dead ringer that was kept between the folds of stitched fabric on the inside of his jacket. He also missed the blade hidden in his shoe, tucked semi-permanently between the insoles and the sole of his shoe.

“Get back here!” he heard the Engineer call after him.

He was not turning back, rushing through the hallways as fast as he could go. Lucky for him, his legs were longer than the Engineer’s. It seemed like a common factor amidst Engineers, to be short and stout with shorter legs than the rest of the team.

He figured he was free, the moment he spotted the front doors. His luck ran out as a bat came his way. He had very little chance to react when wood struck his cranium. He was not even sure if he was passing out or dying.

 

Maurizio opened his eyes and looked around. This was more like he had expected before. It was a fairly barren room, with just some blankets he had been strewn on. His hands were bound behind his back, leaving him incapacitated on the floor. There was a tiny window that shed some fading light into the room, the beams heading straight toward the opposite wall.

He did not feel the headache that he should have, which meant that he must have been healed. What was more troubling was that he could not hear sounds. At least before, he could hear the distant noise of the base. In here he could only hear his own breathing.

Not wanting to linger too long, he sat himself up. He pulled the one shoe off, feeling around with a big toe, until he found the notch to release the blade that was hidden in there. The thin knife came out and clattered onto the floor, causing him to wince. He felt like somebody might come running in to make sure he did not have such an implement, but then he realized that was just paranoia caused by the lack of noise here.

He assumed that if he did not hear noise, then he was not near the actual team. It was more likely that he was housed somewhere away from the base. That meant that there was likely nobody around to hear a pin drop, let alone his entire knife.

He turned himself around, grabbing the knife to cut himself free. It took a lot of work and left him with a couple of slices in his gloves. He was grateful for the thick gloves, which guarded his skin from assault every day.

He rubbed his wrists, then snatched up the knife. If he was getting out of here, he would need to actually do something productive. He could not just run through the base, since there were others around. He needed to be sneakier, like an actual Spy would be.

He sighed at the thought, realizing that he still had one other tool for stealth. He patted the dead ringer in its place, sewn into the jacket he wore. He pulled the jacket off and silently whispered his apologies. He liked keeping his fashion sense tasteful, and a jacket with rips and tears was nothing classy to wear. He would have to try and stitch it up later, but for now, he took his knife and carefully cut a few stitches, trying to do the least amount of damage to get the dead ringer out.

Once it was out, he put his jacket on with a sigh, buttoning it up as if nothing had ever happened. He tucked the dead ringer into a pocket for now, while he walked over to the door to assess his exit. It was another typical door knob, but this time it did not lock from the inside, only the outside.

He would have been at a loss if not for a recent mission Mann Co sent him to in Maine. With a smug smirk, he dug in his pockets for his slim wallet, pulling out one of the faux identity cards he kept for emergency situations. He slipped the card in the sliver between the door and the frame, toying with the latch that kept it shut, in hopes of getting it to release.

He closed his eyes and whispered prayers until he heard the gratifying click. Relief hit his heart and he stepped through the door. He was just about to tuck the card away when he spotted the guard they posted to his door, the Heavy.

The big man got up and turned, looking towards him like a wolf at its prey. It was disgustingly terrifying, especially when he moved so slowly. He just reminded Maurizio of something so unnatural and strange that he felt like he was in a horror movie.

Still, he noted that the man was not as big as he initially thought. In fact, he was smaller than most Heavy Weapons Guys that he had become acquainted with. His weapon of choice was a long barreled shotgun, which would spray and definitely would hit the Spy upon shooting. However, he was hesitant to go for that weapon, instead balling a semi-gloved fist.

“No need for blood,” the apparently Prussian man said, in a deep and throaty purr of a voice. If not for the situation, he would have loved to stand there and have a long and drawn out conversation with him, just to hear him talk for hours.

“Not at all,” the Spy said, putting up his hands. He started edging slightly sideways, wanting to get towards the open door nearby.

“Not good idea,” the Heavy brought his shotgun to aim at the Spy.

His hand moved quickly, reaching into his pocket to activate his dead ringer. Having assumed that he was reaching for a hidden weapon, the Heavy let off two shots. Screaming in pain, because it hurt like hell, Maurizio ran from the room, using the moments he had to escape under the cover of invisibility.

He stumbled out into the bright light, finding himself confused and dazed. By the looks of his surroundings, with burnt and charred buildings that were slowly collapsing in on themselves, he was out on the battlefield. They had housed him in a building out on the battlefield without considering the situation with the REDs.

He figured his best option, aside from actually getting out of here, was to make his way towards the RED base. If any BLU mercenaries did come for him, he would have the resident RED team to cover him. Not likely they would be friendly to him, but they would not be the least bit respectful to their BLU neighbors.

As he ran, the timer ran out on his dead ringer. He figured he would be fine though, so he kept running. He did not know this area, but he did his best to figure the best Spy routes, the places with shadows and corners to hide in. He only hoped that the Heavy was too late in getting news back to the other mercenaries about his cunning escape.

Eventually his breath ran out and he found himself a quiet corner to calm down in. He took a few deep calming breaths, going over what he had seen so far in his head. The battlefield itself was fairly deserted, and had a pretty obvious trail as to where most mercenaries ran. It wound around a larger clump of buildings that used to be utilized for who knew what.

 

He ended up camping out there, waiting for a chance to slip out during the night. He found that few mercenaries came out to the battlefield after hours. The few that did were not necessarily specific about what they were there for, given that Maurizio could not ask them. However, they did all carry electric torches, keeping a close eye on the darkness around them.

He had to slip in and out of buildings when they were not around. It almost seemed more difficult, as the slightest noise set them off, and the slightest light gave off a shadow behind him. That made the dead ringer almost pointless. They would be able to follow his shadow, seeing that he was alive instead of dead like the body his tool was supposed to leave behind.

It was early morning, with the sun about to rise in less than an hour. He had very little time to get off of the base and to a new hiding terrain. But, his expedition for freedom was just about to end. He saw it, the edge of the battlefield. There were still scorch marks and bits of rubble outside of the edge, but with the fickle way it trailed off, he could tell that this was not a usual part of the battlegrounds. This was a rare area for the mercenaries to come to for fighting or recovering. If he could just get past the rubble and scorch marks, head for the trees beyond, he would be free to get to civilization.

He darted from the last available hiding point, making a beeline towards the trees beyond. He could hide in the trees, if nothing else. It would not be hard, utilizing the trees’ shadows to cover his own shadows. He never thought he would ever look forward to the idea of camping out in the woods, as much as he did right then and there.

A shot hit him in the head. His dead ringer was ready in his hand, so he kept running, using the invisibility to cover himself. He noticed too late that there was a very obvious shadow following his feet though. Another shot bit his hip, sending him to the ground.

He winced, gritting his teeth against the pain. No! he thought, despair and panic swarming his mind. He was so close to the treeline, so close to freedom. He had to keep moving, so he struggled to his feet, bouncing on his one good leg.

“This is the end of the line for you, buddy,” he heard the Scout taunt at him.

“Ja,” the Medic added, “You’re not getting anywhere on that leg.”

“No!” Maurizio exclaimed in defiance, “I didn’t come this far to fall back again!”

“Dude, why don’t we just kill him?” the Scout asked, “It’s not like it’s anything off our sleeves.”

“You heard the Engineer,” the Medic argued.

All the while, Maurizio was bouncing and staggering towards the treeline. He panted heavily, growing tired with the work he had to put in, just to stay upright without hurting his leg. Every jolting movement was agony, but he would keep pressing forward.

“Just stop man! You’re embarrassing yourself!” he heard the Scout complain.

Tears bit Maurizio’s eyes as he fought with the pain. He tried to bite them back, to swallow them down. He fought through every movement, trying to get towards those trees.

“Just knock him out,” Scout said, with an exasperated sigh.

A tranquilizer needle hit his backside and he cried out in pain. It was bad enough the wound was in that area, but the mere sensation of the needle in his glutes was painful. He gritted his teeth again, staggering before he came to his knees. His breath came in shallow pants, unable to calm his lungs and heart as adrenaline caused them to race.

The drug started to induce the calmness itself. He felt it first in his lower muscles, his lower region becoming useless. He was lying flat on his belly by the time it started to lull his senses into a dull sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had more violence planned for this chapter than what happened. Hmm...guess I love babby Maurizio too much to hurt him too badly.


	23. Conflict in Conviction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleu is given the task of retrieving a couple of Spies and deleting them.  
> Scout is feeling down, and a little confused about how he feels.  
> Maurizio is becoming a little more aware of how big this whole thing is, and is not having an easy time getting away from these damn BLUs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!  
> This chapter contains hints/suggestions/mentions of abuse, torture and rape.

Bleu was ready for this next mission. Each mission consistently felt more and more depressing, but he kept that as an easy way to avoid emotional expression. When you never felt happy or blissful, nobody could take that away from you, and life becomes easy to cope with its dull exterior. It made preparing for what was to come easier.

He had completed the previous task assigned to him, offing the Demoman they had disagreement with. He figured this must be an intel grab, as surely they would not assign two hits in a row. But, when the Russian Spy handed him the envelope, it felt rather heavy.

“Another?” he inquired, hefting the envelope in his hand.

“So soon? I know. Doesn’t seem like they spread these things out well,” she said, taking a deep drag of her cigarette, “But you have to do what must be done.”

“That is reiterating the obvious,” he stated, irritably.

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, “They haven’t necessarily been paying attention to where these assignments go. All things considered, you’re probably the best person for this particular mission. Maybe you will know how it needs to be handled. Not just go with the flow like everybody else would.”

She usually did not talk to him a whole lot, so he grew suspicious. There was something off, but not in the way that she was not herself. He looked her in the eye, seeing that came cunning and haughty expression she carried about herself. The most she had ever said to him before was to belittle his skill as a Spy, denouncing him as anything more than a wannabe. It seemed a little off then that she was praising him for being right for this job, unless there was something he was unaware of about the mission.

“I heard Miss Pauling’s pretty close to where you’re going,” she added, shifting her hips and taking the smoke from her lips, “At least, that’s the rumor going around. Nobody’s tracked her down yet. No doubt because she’s hiding somewhere clever. But, if you managed to bag her too? What an accomplishment that would be on your resume.” She chuckled at that, teasing at the concept of finding alternative work outside of Mann Co Productions.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he gave her an irritated glare, “A grave maybe?”

She let out a giggle. As fake as it was, it sounded so authentic. She was an actress through and through, able to conjure up the most authentic seeming responses to situations. For the most part, Bleu could not conjure up the energy to care about those situations to create any form of response necessary to fulfill the duty. At least he was able to keep up an act that fooled his targets.

“Well, good luck with your mission,” she returned her smoke to her mouth, a casual gesture of leaving as she prepared to walk away, “I’m sure you’ll be quite busy with your work in Italy.”

Oh great, Italy. As if he needed more things to remind him of misery. Not that he did not like the country itself. Perhaps such a trip would even be good for him, getting out of America tended to do wonders for his senses, after all. This could be beneficial.

He retreated to his office while she strode away. He sat down at his desk, careful with the tan colored paper as he slipped the information out. The first thing he noted was the location.

“This isn’t Italy, this is…” dread hit him as the profile of his red masked target came into view. Of all the red masked men, he knew this one too well: Maurizio.

 

Bleu was going over the papers at a local café. The paranoia of cameras and Mann Co authorities made him too nervous. Not that he was shaking any less here than he would be there, as he tried to tap the ashes of his cigarette out into a tray.

The intel drew this out to be an extremely simple task. He was to disguise as Miss Pauling to pick up an apparent _rogue_ Spy, then execute him when he was far gone. The reasoning drawn out painted Maurizio as some sort of dirty traitor, having failed a previous mission and assisted Miss Pauling.

“Oh Maurizio, what have you gotten yourself into?” he moaned low.

There was a connected profile. It was the resident BLU Spy. He was to be picked up and executed as well. The reasoning was _failure to obey orders_ and nothing more was given on the subject. He did not care about the BLU Spy, what he did or who he was.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” a woman asked.

He was a bit surprised, looking up to see one of the waitresses. Typically, the waiters here stayed behind the counter for service. They did not come to the tables. Why she would be here was beyond him, unless she was being nosey while cleaning.

“It’s fine, thank you,” he said dismissively. His coffee was still quite steamy and while he had taken a small sip earlier, he was hesitant lest he burned his mouth on it.

“It’s just that…you seem…rather upset,” she noted.

He frowned at that, noting the point that he had been expressing emotions. It made sense though, when he thought about it. Of all the things that could make him happy, Maurizio was probably the only one left. He was the best one. The dread and worry cooking in his stomach would burn a hole in his gut if he let it.

What happens when he gets there? So he goes about the mission as usual. He rescues Maurizio from the base to secretly kill him, since Mann Co did not want its _usual_ handlers dealing with permanent death while they were busy handling a team. But, there was no way he could end Maurizio permanently.

Looking back at the last time they had spoken, he felt such confliction. Maurizio had had a concussion. Bleu himself was cold beyond belief, while struggling through the agony in his legs. Maurizio had killed him there in the cold snow of the mountains.

Betrayal, as strong as it may be, was not a feeling that could make Bleu want to harm Maurizio. Even when Maurizio showed himself to be a cunning and almost brutal Spy, Bleu could not force that feeling. He almost felt a little proud for him, seeing him come out of his shell as a personable and loving friendly type to act as a real Spy was. As much as the stab in the back, or rather the gunshot wound, hurt him, he still felt glad for him.

“I am fine, thank you,” he said sternly, trying to get her to go away. Even if he had wanted to talk about it with a total stranger, he could not risk her looking at the intel in front of him. Even if she only saw some small details, it looked rather suspicious to have a profile like this about a person.

“I-I’m sorry for bothering you,” she quickly excused herself, hurrying off to the employees only area.

He sighed with relief, turning back to his work. He had too much to think about to worry about that woman. He needed to think about what he was going to do.

Namely, he came to this café, because if he could not bring himself to kill Maurizio, then any plans he made needed to stay secret from Mann Co. At least until he had the man safely away from that BLU base.

He looked at the profile picture. A rare type of Spy, who was neither frowning in irritation like Bleu’s profile picture, nor grinning with malice. There was a genuine smile, like he was happy to be there, and pleased to work for Mann Co. Of course, this was a picture taken decades ago, before the word ‘productions’ was added to the company title.

He closed his eyes, trying to paint a picture of Maurizio’s real face underneath the mask. His eyes, his smile, his nose and even the way his face crinkled from so many years of making that lovable smile. It tore him up on the inside.

Snow was surrounding the picture. Trees full of snow that painted the landscape of mountains. The earth beneath them seemed to give away all of the time, as they struggled to stay upright. Bleu could not even remember the pain anymore, the way his legs had given out time and again under duress. And finally, the struggle that led to his death.

He leaned his face into one hand, pressing his eye and forehead against the warmth of his palm. His fingers rubbed into his forehead, trying to stimulate his mind to think of anything else. If only he could think of anything else when something so emotionally shattering had taken up the majority of his mind for the past who knew how long.

When he looked at the picture of Maurizio again, he felt tears in his eyes and a lump forming. “I shouldn’t feel this way,” he whispered to himself, gazing at that warm smile in the picture.

He grabbed his coffee, but found it had gone cold during his time sitting there. He threw back a few gulps, just to have some caffeine in his system. He tossed the cup away, before gathering his papers back into the envelope. He had had enough of sitting in the muck of his own grievances, he had to go act upon the reality of what was his love’s situation.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Drake raised his head to look at his father, talking to the other REDs. They seemed rather at ease, though that was likely because they used to work together and were used to being conversational. He wondered if Antoine and the REDs had had it the same as the BLUs. If Smissmas had been as hallow and empty, with weariness about family and Christmas carols.

The holiday season was around the corner and all. It had not come up in conversation, but Drake had been thinking about it for a while. After all, the two of them had been spending a lot of time together, when they were not in battle, trying to catch up on the time not spent bonding as father and son.

But the holiday season had been something foreign to the Scout for so long. It had been filled with drinking songs, drinking parties, drunk crying, drinking games, and drunk fighting – especially drunk fighting. He would have loved to go back and do another Christmas with his father, back when he was still young.

“You doing okay, son?” his train of thought was interrupted by the Soldier, who sat down beside him.

Strange to think that this was the guy he had looked up to for much of his time at Mann Co, trying to replace his father somehow. In a way, he still looked up to him. He was a really good guy, genuine in the way he behaved, and never let others fall behind. Antoine could never replace Soldier, not by a mile.

He chuckled at the thought, “Yea, I’m good. Just thinking about some things. You know?”

“Miss the old base?” Soldier asked.

“Huh?” he did not get what he meant.

“Demoman…Medic and Heavy…Sniper…Engie?” the Soldier offered.

“Oh…right…them…” he scratched the back of his head. Sniper and his new family aside, he had not thought too much about the old team. “Been um…kinda getting used to new team members, you know? They moved us after you guys disappeared. Guess some guys died too.”

“Demo didn’t look very dead,” Soldier grunted with a bit of what sounded like mirth in his tone.

“Demo? I thought the Demo was dead? At least, that’s what Miss Pauling had told me when we first got the message to change base,” Drake explained.

Soldier grumbled something inaudible, before he finally spoke up, “Don’t always trust your senses, son.”

Drake frowned, feeling a bit confused, “I thought you used to say, ‘always trust your senses,’ like it was some grave advice to give.”

“Well, now I’m tellin’ ya to be skeptical,” was the Soldier’s retort.

He paused, looking the Soldier over with uncertainty. He glanced back at the REDs, checking to see that Antoine was still there chatting. He seemed to think he had all day to just stand around and chatter with the Medic.

“You been feelin’ okay, Solly?” he finally turned his attention back to the Soldier.

The Soldier smiled back at him, “Son, I’m feeling better than I’ve felt in years!”

“Well…uh…I guess that’s good,” Drake shrugged.

Soldier reached over to pat him on the back before standing up, “You’re a good man, Scout!”

“Thanks, pal,” he got to his feet, feeling awkward about being so low while the Soldier was standing up.

“I need a smoke,” the Soldier suddenly grumbled, pulling out a pack.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Drake commented.

“Recent…events…” the Soldier looked a little ashamed, tipping his head so his helmet fell a bit forward over his eyes. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it up.

“Uh…” Drake shifted his feet a little, “Could I have one of those?”

Soldier nodded and passed him one. He put it in his mouth and puffed as Soldier lit the end. He let out a sputter of coughs, as the ashy air hit his lungs. It was a toxic feeling that he never really liked, to be honest. He was not even sure why either Spy did it so much.

Soldier patted his back as he coughed, “If you aren’t ready for ‘em, you never will be.” Soldier chuckled at him, shaking his head.

“I could just use a little something to take the edge off,” Drake explained, taking a break from the cigarette to breathe fresh air, “You know?”

“We’re all on edge, Scout,” Soldier replied, “In the end, we buck up and take it like men!”

Drake chuckled, “Yea, I guess you’re right. But uh…say…it’s not like…” He did not even know where his mind was going when the thought hit him. His mind was spinning really fast and he could not stop it. “I mean…when you like somebody a lot…it’s not like the same as liking liking a person a lot. Is it? I mean…”

“Scout, I am not following you,” Soldier said, in a monotone voice.

“I mean…” he paused to rub his forehead with his free hand.

He had thought a lot about Maurizio the past twelve or so hours. It had been a lot of fretting about his safety, but with how much he took up his time in thought, he wondered if that meant something. Perhaps something about him that he did not know about himself.

“If you like a guy…and he’s like…your friend and all…” he explained, in short bursts of thought, “But he gets into some trouble and you can’t stop thinking about him. Like…I mean…is that gay?”

Soldier stared at him for a while. At least he thought that Soldier was staring at him. Nobody could really tell for sure with that helmet drawn down over his eyes. There was no telling where he was looking, though perhaps he was just looking at his feet and thinking.

“You like Maurizio?” Soldier asked.

His face went red and his heart started pounding in his chest. He regretted this so much. Why did he even think this would be a good topic to talk about? He was not even sure he had thought about it at all. Instead, he tried to swallow down any pride left to finish the conversation. After all, this was Soldier, not Antoine, and Soldier knew about gay stuff.

“Like…he’s a pal. You know? I figured he was pretty decent even back when we were on enemy teams,” he explained, growing more and more embarrassed, “But uh…I can’t shake him off my mind. Since he’s captured and possibly being tortured, and all that.”

There was a long silence. Soldier’s face twitched a little bit. It seemed like he might have completely zoned out of the conversation altogether. Before Scout could say anything to try and jump start the conversation, Soldier suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. He almost yelped, but he did flinch, surprised by the sudden motion.

“Do you want to fuck him?” the Soldier asked.

“What?” he never thought his body could get so hot. Never in his life had he felt so embarrassed.

“I asked if you want to fuck him,” the Soldier explained.

“What? No!” he shook his head hastily.

“Do you want men?” Soldier pressed.

“Uhh…uh…no? I mean…I don’t care, but I prefer it if guys weren’t naked around me,” Drake was hasty with his words. He felt like he was fumbling all the while.

“Have you ever once looked at a man and thought about wanting what he has? Like, you want him sweaty and screaming your name,” Soldier went on.

“NO!” Scout proclaimed, growing a bit fearful at this line of questioning. Was he really gay? Was that what the Soldier was trying to tell him.

“Then you are one hundred percent not gay,” Soldier finished.

“What?” it should have been relief hitting him, but Drake had gotten so wound up that he did not know what to do with himself at this point. He was mostly just confused, bewildered at the line of questioning and the direction it was going in.

“Scout, Maurizio is your friend,” Soldier patted his shoulder, “And it’s okay to care about him. I care about him. I don’t want him that way. But I care. He’s an amico, and amicos stick together. But I gotta deal with the guilt of having left him behind in that base with those monsters.”

Drake was silent, listening. He breathed carefully, trying to calm himself down. He felt so conflicted with what he had just been through and how open the world was to hear their conversation. Now that he was looking around, he noticed that the RED Spy was looking his way, apparently curious about whatever they were talking about.

“We’re both friends to him,” the Soldier went on, never minding the attention, “We like him. He likes us. He’s a good man and a good friend. We feel bad. He’s there…and we’re…here.” Soldier’s head dropped a bit, as he looked down at the ground with shame.

He touched Soldier’s shoulder, “Ah, come on pal. You did the right thing by coming to get us.”

He gave the Scout a hesitant smile, “Sure, but that doesn’t take away the guilt. Nothing does. Nothing takes away the worry you have for a friend. That is not something _gay_ or even shameful. It just means that you care about his well-being. After what they did to me…” Soldier lost his smile, and all of his luster. He looked suddenly very heavy and grave. “I can’t imagine what a BLU Spy is going to do with a RED Spy.”

“Yea,” Drake took another drag on the cigarette, which ended with a fit of coughing.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio could not even begin to wrap his head around how he managed to get into this position. Next to him laid an unexpected figure and captor. He could have tried to guess at the man’s motives, but it was hard to drive at. His actions bespoke one thing, but the tone of them bespoke another.

Shuddering and aching for a cigarette, he swung his legs off of the bed. Everything hurt for him. It should have felt pretty good. This was supposed to be the kind of hurt that felt too right. Yet, everything from what happened, to how it happened, to how he felt then was all wrong.

He hugged himself, tears squeezing out of his eyes. He felt so gross and under dressed. Even with his balaclava, gloves and even his shirt and socks were still on.

He shifted, trying to get into a better position to stand up from. A hand lurched out to grab his arm, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Maurizio winced, remembering that the man might hurt him for doing anything wrong. He was still a captive after all. But this had all just been a game, or at least it was supposed to be. He had made a dare. Some words were said. Some teasing was made. And then, the Soldier had made it his prime directive to fix Maurizio.

It had been funny. He had laughed in the man’s face. It sounded so stupid to even try. But now, after what had happened, with the firm grip on his forearm, and the breath that came hot on the skin of his shoulder, edging over the felt of his balaclava, he was terrified and sorry he ever laughed. He wanted to cry out for help, for anything to happen to get him away from the Soldier, but nobody would come, not after the Engineer had tasked the mercenaries to watching him, only for them to abandon him to the jesting captive.

“I…I need a smoke,” he spoke breathily. He shook more than he meant to.

A hand grabbed his jaw, crudely turning his head to look the Soldier in the eyes. There was a mean look to him, like he would slice him up for fun and pour lemon juice over his wounds. He felt terror grow though, and it was hard to act like everything was okay.

“You may have a smoke, when I _say_ you can have a smoke, faggot!” the Soldier growled.

Terror grew in his gut. That had confirmed it for him. This was all not okay, and he should have taken some unspoken advice that would have come from Bleu. Don’t antagonize mercenaries, especially not the heteronormative American men. He always ignored that bit of advice, given that most mercenaries were heterosexuals and most of them were men. He had never worked with any of the women before becoming a Spy _in the know_. Now, he wished he could just go back to not knowing anything at all.

 

The relief of having a smoke was not as satisfying as it might usually be. Tied to a wooden chair, Maurizio sat and waited. There was a single window letting in light, and a faint distant sound of men on the battlefield. If he watched carefully, he could see a trail of smoke rising up in the distance. He probably could catch sight of a Demoman or a Soldier shooting into the air, but that was definitely not something he wanted.

With a pitiful sigh, he leaned over to tap the growing ash into the tray they left for him. He was left to sit there and think about everything. To think about what he was involved in. To think about what they were thinking. To think about what had just recently happened. Not that the others knew _precisely_ what happened, but from the lack of visible bruises and the pained way Maurizio shied away from them, they should have caught on by now that something was not right.

He figured the Spy should at least be aware. Then again, if he came out and said some suspicion, he might be called out. Given the way the Soldier had behaved so far, Maurizio would not put it past him to make his teammate’s life a living hell.

He waited there in silence for the day to end. It was boring, but became very anxiety inducing the moment he heard their clamorous voices coming in from respawn. He closed his eyes, counting backwards from ten in French. Anything to get his mind to calm down.

“Well… _Miss Pauling_ we’re sure glad you’re here to clear things up,” he heard the Engineer’s voice.

He could have cried at hearing that man’s voice draw nearer. If he was around, that meant the Soldier could not do anything to harm him. No less, Miss Pauling was here!

He almost forgot to check his facial expression, schooling himself from his excited look to a welcoming smile. He needed to look pleased or okay, but not overly enthused. He was glad Miss Pauling was coming for him anyways, so he might as well smile at her in greeting.

“Good day, Miss Pauling!” the Soldier’s hoarse voice intermingled with the others’ greetings, but it was the one that stuck out. It dug into his mind and made him squirm.

“I’m very glad you called,” Miss Pauling came around the corner to the room, next to the Engineer. Behind them trailed the Demoman.

“Ah! Very good to see you again!” Maurizio gave his most charming smile possible.

Miss Pauling looked at him, as if taken aback, or maybe put off. That look made him feel panicked though. Miss Pauling would not have been deterred by him, of all of the men she worked with, smiling at her. That did not sit well in his instincts, and he was about to start kicking and screaming to get out of those ropes.

“I don’t reckon you’ve had a…mix up…with the higher ups?” the Demoman asked, giving her a thoughtful frown.

Maurizio watched her intently, his wariness growing. The subtle signs and cues were there. Everything pointed to her possibly being a Spy, if only he could just prove it to them somehow.

“Nope…no problems here,” the fake Miss Pauling shook her head, “All of the paperwork is in order. I just need somebody to come and sign it. So, I’m taking him and Spy with me.”

She walked around to untie Maurizio’s hands. When he stood up, he turned to offer her a smile of gratitude. Reminded that she was a fake, his eyes drifted up, wondering just how tall this Spy was. Miss Pauling was a little shorter than himself, but a Spy was typically a tall man, and even the women were usually tall.

“S-spy?” the Engineer stammered, glancing over his shoulder at the Demoman.

The Demoman wore his worry on his face like an open book, “You don’t have to do that. You coulda just brought the paperwork with you, you know?”

“Yea, well…we don’t have a whole lot of time…and the guys back there-” she suddenly cut off as the Scout peered around the corner at them.

Everybody turned to look at him, bewildered at his sudden appearance. There were a few moments of silence, as nobody spoke, just staring. The bewilderment was broken when Scout shook himself visibly.

“Uh…what guys you talking about? And what are you guys talking about?” Scout asked.

“Oh! Uh…just the guys who uh…handle things…for the Administrator,” she answered.

“I don’t remember any guys handling things for the Administrator,” Scout noted, with a frown on his face.

“Sure you do! That one guy you guys killed when she brought in the telecommunicator!” she argued.

There was a long pause, then Engineer gave out a loud and long, “Ohhhh…Scout was sick that day.”

“I don’t remember that!” Scout protested.

“You were sick that day,” the Engineer explained.

“Ah,” Pauling nodded, “Maybe take fewer sick days.” She suddenly turned and looked up to Maurizio. “You ready? We need to get going,” she turned and started towards the door, “Oh, tell Spy to meet me at my car. We need to get where we’re going quickly. The Administrator doesn’t have all the patience in the world, you know.”

“Spy? Why Spy?” Scout asked, with confusion.

“Yea? Why Spy?” the Engineer pressed, “Why not take Scout with you?”

Miss Pauling turned, “Because the Administrator asked for Spy to come to her office and sign the paperwork.”

“Spy has never even _been_ to her office,” the Engineer pressed, “Why would she want him to go there? Besides…w-we can come by and sign it later.”

“I’m afraid I’m just following orders boys,” she said, striding quickly to keep up with Maurizio.

“Well, don’t!” the Engineer exclaimed, grabbing the fake Pauling’s hand.

Maurizio glanced between the two. There was a faint but noticeable bit of blue faux smoke, the tell of a disguise kit. The Engineer knew, but he did not say anything, knowing there was a Spy in the base. This was a known visit, from a fake Pauling, to pick up a prisoner; but, as Maurizio looked on, he wondered about the desire of picking up a second prisoner, who was not necessarily a prisoner of BLU.

“Spy ain’t leavin’ here,” the Demoman said, sternly.

“Uh…guys?” the Scout looked utterly confused about what was going on.

“Just take the guy, and we’ll call it even,” the Engineer said, with a stern warning in his tone.

Maurizio glanced over his shoulder down a hallway. Now was his chance to make a getaway. If they were distracted by this Spy, then he could likely get away. That was, unless he was not a big enough threat to trump Maurizio. He would need to make the threat bigger.

“You’re not Miss Pauling!” he raised his voice, with a shocked look on his face, “You’re a Spy!”

That hit the Scout’s ears, and with how loud he was being, it might have hit the others’ ears. He could already hear the distant echoes of the Soldier and the Heavy coming this way. When he looked at the Engineer and the Demoman though, he realized he might have made himself a bigger threat than the fake Miss Pauling.

He covered his mouth, pretending to realize what was going on. He looked so shocked and in despair, like he did not know what to do. Their attentions went to Pauling, who was backing away.

“This ain’t no Pauling? That’s a Spy!” Scout grabbed his scattergun, quickly reloading it.

“Now hold on a minute, Scout!” the Engineer exclaimed, with a worried look on his face.

“Engie! That’s a Spy!” the Scout went on, barely hearing his teammates.

“Hold on, son,” the Engineer tried to calm him, to call back his attention.

“Wait a minute, Scout! Don’t do anything brash!” the Demoman added, moving alongside the Engineer now as they started towards Scout.

As the Scout finished reloading his gun he aimed it at the faux Miss Pauling. Partially frightened, and partially seeing an opening, Maurizio slipped around a corner. Not having been noticed, he hurried down the hallway and started searching for his way out. It was not too long before they noticed that he had given them the slip though. The alarms started going off, and likely the people behind the cameras were helping, setting off the Administrator’s disembodied, prerecorded voice.

Why would they help them though? They did not know what Maurizio was doing. He was working for them. Then again, he did fail a mission and did not report in about the failure. Likely he _had_ been reported as a rogue. Maybe even before the BLUs here called in his position. Though, he could only hope that the real Miss Pauling, along with the mercenaries she was with were alright.

His thoughts were spinning as he ran. Miss Pauling…the Administration…his friends…Bleu… He could not piece it all together quite so easily, but it was only starting to make sense. Dread and regret comingled as conflicting thoughts about helping Miss Pauling and what Bleu had been trying to do all along hit him.

He jumped with surprise, stumbling to a halt, when the Soldier appeared in front of him. He turned, but behind him was the Pyro and the Heavy. Both were armed and ready to kill him.

He threw his hands into the air, “Don’t kill me! I’m not armed! I’m not dangerous! Please!”

“That’s enough from you, liberal commie scum!” a powerful whack from a metallic weapon slammed him to the ground so fast that he forgot where he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add some bit of Andrew being that sort of father figure to Scout, the way he was 'back in the day.'  
> Maurizio's guilt was in shooting and killing Bleu.
> 
> Still don't have a replacement computer. That will take a while. Please be patient with me.


	24. This Could be Easier, But I Don’t Trust You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio gets hit with a huge truth.  
> Bleu is ready to apologize for everything.

Hugh waited for Miss Pauling to climb into the vehicle. Behind him, Andrew, Drake and Antoine were already seated and ready. It had taken a bit of convincing to get the other Spy into the back, but Hugh figured it was best to have Miss Pauling in the front with him. He did not envy the other man, seeing as he was smashed between his own son and the door. Drake was not a very big man, but he tended to wave his arms around wildly and be dramatic with his movements when he spoke.

The younger man was already talking loudly and dramatically with Andrew, as they pulled away from the motel. This was going to be a long drive. He really wished the Scout was in the other car, but the youth had insisted on riding in the same car as Andrew and Antoine. Andrew had decided on riding with Hugh and Antoine wanted to be able to discuss things with Miss Pauling. Hugh was there for the same reason as Antoine, to discuss things with Miss Pauling. His car was packed, while the Engineer and the Medic rode alone in the other RED Spy’s car.

There was not much trust for those two. The Engineer’s past actions and the Medic’s apparent allegiance to him were questionable. Hugh was still not sure how jealous the Engineer was of the relationship Andrew had, whether those feelings still clung to him. He was also certain that the Medic loved to hold grudges – scratch that, he **knew** that the man loved to hold grudges. He would not put it past either of them to throw punches while the others were not around. And he was not about to bring Andrew into either of those fights.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio opened his eyes slowly, feeling the wretched headache beaming against his skull like a thumping hammer. It was painful and distracting, making his logic and reasoning flawed as he desperately searched his mind for some form of meaning within the thoughts that swam around. First he had to figure out where he was and what he was doing there. Then he needed to figure out how to ease his headache, because he was not recalling how that happened.

Memory of a shovel strike hit him and he cringed. He probably came close to death with that strike. That team could have killed him without any care. He was disposable, an enemy to them.

He forced his eyes to open more, to see the world. They moved around, searching in a blur of what was a room. At least he could take in that much information – he was in a room somewhere, so he had yet to be dumped outside somewhere to die. Though, death might not be far off. And if death was not far, then torture was bound to be closer.

He squirmed a bit, blinking away the bleariness. Voices appeared, outside a door. He looked up and found the weird outline of a door, trying to make sense of its shape. That was when he realized that it was not a normal door, but a bunch of plywood that had been pieced together and screwed onto the frame with hinges that looked freshly made.

Plywood would be easy to get through, if he could get out of this seat. He could not cut or even try to remove his binds though. His body felt so limp and lazy that he was not sure how to get up. He tried to make his feet work, but just pressing them to the floor made the muscles in his thighs waver, as if they had never lifted his weight in his entire lifetime.

This strange lacking of capacity started making him panic. He could not move a whole lot, at least not more than a wiggle. His body felt heavy and uneasy, like it would fall to the floor and be stuck there like a screw in the ground, whenever he even thought about standing up. And his head just could not clear up what he was seeing around him.

He finally looked straight forward. Was it a mirror? No, the clothes were blue. That meant this was a BLU Spy, not a mirror or even a RED Spy.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision as he became more and more alert. His eyes rose to the ceiling and he blinked at the light. He had to start seeing something clearly, maybe light would be the thing.

“Ah good,” a Russian voice entered the room as the plywood door swung open.

He lowered his gaze to look at the big giant of a man as he loomed in the doorway. He seemed so bleary though, so Maurizio could not make out his face. What was worse was that the closer he came, the more disoriented Maurizio felt.

“Leave him alone,” a French accent filled his ears and rolled around in his mind.

He felt a small smile, though his lips were too heavy to respond. His head became heavier than the lips and it fell forward, as he rocked into sleep. He could only assume what might happen to him next while he was unconscious.

 

He opened his eyes again – or rather he finally regained consciousness to find that his eyes had already been pried open. He tried to blink, but big fingers forced his lids open and drops of liquid fell into them. Frightened and uncertain of the intent, he yelled and tried to pull away.

“Sit still!” a German voice hissed at him.

He blinked, seeing his vision mostly cleared, just bleary from liquid. He could see a Medic towering over him, a BLU Medic who was scowling.

“Ah, glad to see you awake,” he recognized the resident Engineer’s voice all too well.

Maurizio blinked the excess liquid away, feeling them drip down like tears to soak his mask. He glanced around the room to strangely find it much more visible. The Engineer and the Medic looked like they had been talking in front of him. Behind them, slightly obscured by elbows, was a BLU Spy. He was sure that it was not the resident BLU Spy, so it must have been the Spy who tried to fake being Miss Pauling.

“Is he gonna be alright, doc?” the Engineer asked his teammate.

“As alright as he can be without full medical care and respawn as we have,” the Medic replied, with a nonchalant shrug, “I don’t see why you intend to keep him alive anyways. Quite frankly, since he’s with the enemy, we could get into a lot of trouble for keeping him alive. He should be dead on sight. We should thank our lucky stars to even kill a mercenary off of respawn. Might calm the Administrator down a touch.”

“Calm down there, Medic,” the Engineer gestured to him, “Nobody here’s dying. In fact, we gotta send these suckers to the Administrator somehow.”

“How do you suggest that?” the Medic replied, haughtily, “We drive to her house? Carry them to her doorstep like hobo santa clauses?”

“Now hold on, I’m thinking,” the Engineer gestured at him dismissively.

Maurizio looked from one man to the other. The Engineer had to know that the Administrator herself was retired, based on his rank. Forbes knew it too, though he did not seem to be in the room at the moment. The Medic on the other hand knew nothing about what was going on behind the veil of normalcy – or what would be considered normalcy for war driven mercenaries.

“You’ve gone against the Administration!” Maurizio declared to the Engineer.

“Now you just watch your mouth there, son,” the Engineer warned darkly.

“If we’re keeping a colleague from another base hostage, then I would agree,” the Medic nodded.

The Engineer looked up at his teammate, with a bit of worry on his face, “Hey…uh…doc…mind if I interrogate this one myself?”

“Oh no sure…go ahead…interrogate my patient…he’s only just come out of an over dose induced coma and suffered severe dehydration and seizures!” the Medic threw his hands up with exasperation.

Maurizio blinked at him, astonished at the explanation. He was fearful about it, realizing that something must have happened while he was out. Or perhaps that was why he was out?

“What?” was all he managed to say.

The Engineer sighed, “I understand, doc. But the other boys could probably use some lookin’ after anyways. This guy did a number on Scout and I don’t think he’s about to settle down over the fiasco.”

The Medic nodded and finally headed out the door, leaving the Engineer alone with two Spies. The stocky man of science turned to the other Spy. Maurizio looked away, but listened intently.

“Got anything to say, snake?” his question was answered by silence, so he went on, “I didn’t think so.”

He turned back to Maurizio and he responded in kind, giving the American his full attention, “You want your ignorant teammates to remain ignorant. I want to remain with my head solidly on my shoulders.”

“You’re not in any place to negotiate,” the Engineer let out a chortle with a huff, as a crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“No,” Maurizio shrugged, “Unless your team starts prying. And…they will. Your Spy is already pissed that you’ve disposed of his _skills_ in lieu of handling this apparent issue yourself. Not to mention the Scout’s reaction to Miss Pauling being a fake. I wonder what he might be saying to the others at this moment.”

That knocked the wind out of the Engineer’s sails really fast. His haughty smirk turned into a frown very fast. Now it was time to strike before he got legitimately upset.

“Dispelling of their fears isn’t so easy is it? Perhaps I can help you though…we don’t have to have a problem,” Maurizio pressed, giving the Engineer a pleasant little smirk that spoke of his cockiness. People underestimated somebody who was cocky.

“I can handle them just fine,” the Engineer growled at him angrily. He looked like he might actually lash out at him. It was time to reel back the act a little bit, removing the cocky appearance and putting on a bit of cooperation.

“Alright…perhaps you can…but what about the Administration? What are they going to say when they hear that you disobeyed a direct order?” he offered.

“I offer them two Spies’ heads in place of his,” the Engineer growled.

Maurizio chuckled, but it was mostly to try and cover his irritation more than anything, “That’s not how it works, pal.”

“What you got that’s better?” the Engineer asked, one side of his upper lip rising in a snarl.

“An arsenal of real world Spy skills, a knowledge for how it really works, and this guy,” he jerked his head at the other Spy without looking at him.

The Engineer looked over at the other Spy before turning back to him, “How am I to trust you any more than him?”

“He wants to complete his job,” Maurizio offered, “Which adds in my head and your Spy’s head. I don’t want a bullet in my head…and in spite of what you think of Spy tactics, I rather like your Spy. I would miss him if he had a bullet in his head. So…I say you let me take this guy back to Administration and do what I do best with the paperwork.”

“You’re offering to sweep this under the rug and make it all disappear?” the Engineer quirked an eyebrow, “But, you work for Miss Pauling.”

“And you are breaking the Administration’s rules,” Maurizio shrugged, “Who’s the bad guy here? Hmm? We’re closer to the same side than you might think.”

The Engineer sighed, glancing over at the other Spy again. He seemed rather hesitant, but his body language hinted at him thinking. That was a good sign, that he was thinking on the idea. His chances of convincing him to go along with it were stronger this way.

When the Engineer turned to him squarely again, he looked a bit more certain of himself, “What do we start with?”

Maurizio smirked up at the Engineer, “We start with switching the colors.”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu listened in disbelief and terror. Part of it was thrilling, but the part about him becoming the victim swept under the rug was not so thrilling. He had lost the feeling of the words Maurizio spoke long before it came to the Engineer’s agreement.

This was all wrong. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Granted, listening to him talk, Bleu could tell that the RED Spy had picked up a lot of new tricks and had even improved upon his sweet talking methods. He sounded even more cunning, the sweet molasses of Italian accented words pouring from his mouth like a thick liquidous poison. Every word dripped from his tongue like acid, but Bleu just melted in it.

He shook himself when the two finally stopped talking. Had he missed Maurizio so much? Sure, they had been together for a long time, but he never realized how much that voice had grown to become more than a familiarity. It felt like something he needed, and all of a sudden he was getting a heavy dosage of it, after several years of being deprived.

The Engineer seemed a little confused at Maurizio’s answer to his question. Bleu knew what it meant though. Switch their clothes to mistake Maurizio for the BLU Spy and Bleu for the RED Spy. But, at what point had Maurizio realized that it was Bleu? Surely that was why he was comfortable with the idea. Most Spies did not change in front of anybody, but if Maurizio was going to take anything off in front of anybody, even being the openly-loving-to-be-naked kind of person that he was, it would be somebody he had been in such a relationship where they were often naked in front of one another.

“Are there cameras in here?” Maurizio asked, his voice a bit softer.

“Nah,” the Engineer shook his head, “Couldn’t risk you being recorded saying something that the others shouldn’t hear.”

“Well, good then…give me about twenty minutes and we’ll basically be switched,” Maurizio pressed.

“You expect me to leave you two in here alone?” the Engineer sounded less than thrilled at that idea.

“I’m not exactly thrilled to get naked in front of others or to undress somebody…but what needs to be done needs to be done,” Maurizio explained.

Bleu was silent, listening intently, though his head sagged a little. He was not apprehensive about any of this. But, as Maurizio had said, it needed to be done. Hopefully Maurizio would spare him and let him do the changing himself. Though, at what point would it be useful if they were to escape together?

“Fine, fine,” the Engineer put up his hands defensively.

He stepped around the RED Spy, who was very careful about ignoring the BLU Spy. He would not even take the silent invitation to exchange a knowing glance. He just kept his eyes on the Engineer, turning his head as he followed the man around his chair.

The Engineer undid the ropes tying him down. His immediate reaction was to rise to his feet and rub the places that had been tied with hemp rope. He smiled at the Engineer warmly. Almost too warmly for Bleu’s comfort.

“Grazie amico,” were the sweet words that poured from his lips.

Bleu had to push down a burning frustration. It was a longing sense of need for Maurizio’s direct attention, along with the jealous rage that built against the Engineer. It was just a smile, a part of the act, it could not mean anything for a man who was controlling his freedoms at the moment.

The Engineer sighed, shaking his head as he made his way out the door. They were left alone, finally all alone.

Bleu let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. Now was the time he would finally get to talk to Maurizio. The man would probably blow up in his face. Tears would fall. There would be a lot of questions, and he was ready and willing to answer them all. With the promise of reconciliation on the horizon, he would dare to give every and any secret away to his Maurizio.

The RED turned to him and stared for a minute. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a paler color than he already was. A look of seeming terror formed on his profile, and disbelief swarmed his eyes.

Maurizio had not recognized him before. Or perhaps all of that refusal to look at him had added to Maurizio not knowing he was there. Yet, of all things, he should have thought that perhaps Bleu would come for him. What kind of bond would they have had in that long standing relationship if he did not?

“B…Bleu?” tears filled Maurizio’s eyes as he stumbled into his chair. He stared at him, disbelief intermingling with what Bleu could only guess was joyous relief.

He smiled at him, “Bonjour Maurizio. I thought that you had already seen me.”

Color returned to Maurizio’s face. It was red, a dark red. It was such a deep and almost frighteningly hued red.

“You came here to kill me!” he leaped to his feet to close the distance between them.

Bleu was surprised, as a gloved hand grabbed him by the jaw. It released his jaw, pulling up on the balaclava. So this was really happening, and he let it, as the mask came off of his head to reveal his face, and a messy mop of black and gray hair, to his old lover.

“It _is_ you! How dare you!” Maurizio proclaimed angrily, his eyes burning with rage.

“What? No I didn’t!” Bleu argued, “I didn’t come here to kill you! I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I would never! Of all the things I would do, that is the one I would never!”

“Don’t lie to me! You can’t hide from me! I know how that stupid system works!” he growled, “You weren’t here to pick up a rogue. You’re here to kill one!”

“You don’t understand,” he argued, trying to dissuade the man as he pulled his body forward. Tied to the chair, it came with him. “I came here in place of another…to _save_ you!”

“You’re so full of lies I can’t even believe you’re the same man I loved so long ago!” Maurizio exclaimed angrily.

That bit deep, and a new feeling boiled up in Bleu. He felt hurt and outrage, both intermingling to burst forth directly at Maurizio, “I did no such thing! I am not lying! I am telling the truth! I have always _tried_ to! But circumstances don’t always permit it! Sometimes you have to lie! I’ve loved you. I’ve always loved you! And I only did what I had to because I love you!”

Maurizio was pulling the chair legs up off the ground, practically strangling Bleu by holding onto the front of his shirt collar. Neither of them were prepared when the door opened, so both of them were startled. They stared at the Engineer, who looked rather startled himself, as if he had walked in on somebody in the nude.

Maurizio, in his classic sweetheart-style manner, gave the Engineer a smile. Always the charmer, he spoke with finesse in every molasses soaked word that dripped from his tongue. It made Bleu want to cry.

“Forgive me, amico. He started mouthing off and I got a little carried away,” Maurizio said, as he placed the chair back on the ground and released Bleu’s collar. He straightened his posture, changing his slightly frazzled look into a casual and calm one.

“No more shouting,” the Engineer glanced between them, “I don’t know what all of that was about, but if I have to come in here again, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Right…right…other ears around. I am sorry,” Maurizio said, putting on his most apologetic form.

The Engineer gave him a tight nod, before closing the door. Maurizio’s head spun to glare down at Bleu. This time he whispered, as the Engineer might have stuck around this time.

“You are so full of shit that this base is beginning to smell of your stench!” he hissed angrily.

“Okay! Okay! Look…just calm down and let’s talk,” Bleu whispered, eager to have out what he had to say.

“No! No more talking! I _tried_ rationalizing with you! I _tried_ talking to you! I _tried_!”

“That’s because you had questions that I did not have answers for!” he watched as Maurizio undid his blue jacket, keeping a distant look to his method though, “I couldn’t tell you! It’s not like I did not want to. I really wanted to tell you. You have no idea how much it hurt. And then you wanted answers, but they would have killed you-”

“Save your speeches for later,” he moved around to undo the tie on Bleu’s hands.

He half expected to be able to get up, but as soon as he tried to move, Maurizio grabbed his wrists and twisted them. He hissed, sitting back down in his chair. He turned his head to look at Maurizio, who kept both hands in one hand, and used the other to move the jacket down.

“If you do this like I’m not the man you were ready to marry back in seventy seven, then we’re going to be here all day,” Bleu said, with a bit of irritation in his voice.

“Well, I don’t trust you,” Maurizio hissed, “I can’t. Not after what was done.”

“What’s done is done,” Bleu said firmly, “All we can do is try to move forward.”

“Why would I trust you? After everything you put me through? After what you put our friends through? Many of them died, Bleu. They are gone _permanently_. And why would you trust _me_ after what **_I_** did?”

“Because I know you!” Bleu insisted.

“Doesn’t that sound familiar?” Maurizio asked snidely.

Bleu felt a twinge of regret. He had to acknowledge these words and where they came from. It was what Maurizio used to tell him about people. He knew people. He knew people well, and Bleu was always too busy being a _good Spy_ to accept that skill that Maurizio had.

“Can we focus on the current problem?” Bleu asked, as the jacket came free of his hands. He relaxed his arms though, not wanting to cause a struggle.

“And what is our current problem? Your mouth?” Maurizio had such coyness to the snide and harsh commentary.

Bleu sighed again, “Okay I get it. You don’t trust me. You’re mad. You’re upset. You’re holding a grudge. But, really? We are in a situation where we could die. I need you and you need me…if just to get the hell out of here.”

“And what are you going to do about that other BLU Spy?” Maurizio asked, in a haughty and almost demeaning tone, “What _were_ you going to do to him? Hmm? Shoot him in the head?”

“He’s no safer here,” he shrugged, “Might as well give him a fighting chance off base than when somebody else comes for him.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Maurizio asked, with exasperation in his tone.

“Look, just let me get these clothes off and we can switch,” Bleu insisted, “I mean, if you’re so inclined. We both already know by now that your arms are too long for my sleeves.”

“They won’t know,” Maurizio shrugged as he released Bleu’s hands.

As Bleu rose to his feet, Maurizio handed him the red suit jacket. He took it and slipped it on, watching as the other did the same with his own jacket. It felt like familiar arms were wrapping around his shoulders. The warmth from Maurizio’s body and the smell of him enveloped Bleu’s being and he wanted to just shut his eyes and enjoy it. He wanted to cry too.

“Cooperate and I won’t kill you,” Maurizio said, a touch scornfully. He removed his balaclava and tossed it at Bleu before slipping the blue one over his face.

Bleu nodded, though he wanted to insinuate that Maurizio would never do that. He was too kind hearted to the people he knew and loved. Even if he was angry, there was no way he could lash out like that at Bleu. They had been in love once, even if he was the only one holding onto the passion they once had.

That thought stuck to him for a bit. He could not help falling into a cycle of thinking on how this had all gone wrong with Maurizio, as he pulled on the red balaclava, and then handed Maurizio his blue suit pants. The red suit pants were a little long too, bunching up at the ankles. They were a bit tighter than his own though, as Maurizio liked tighter fitting clothes. Luckily they did not have to exchange shirts, though the ties were the easiest to put on.

Wrapped in so many pieces of Maurizio, Bleu felt overwhelmed. Everything about this scenario felt overwhelming, and a lump formed in his throat. He turned away, not looking at Maurizio, lest his eyes filled with tears and they fell onto that mask that smelled of some cheap brand cigarette that Maurizio did not usually smoke.

“You never change,” Maurizio said, trying to make the blue suit fit him properly. It was even worse than Bleu remembered, as the sleeves fell short of his wrists and the pants came up to show his black socks. “Still smoking the same imported brand, I see,” Maurizio noted, with a huff.

Bleu smirked a little. It helped him to stop the welling of tears. He took a deep calming breath as he looked back to Maurizio. It was nice to know that the other man remembered him as much as he was remembered.

“Alright,” Maurizio took a deep breath and gave Bleu a stern look, “Let’s do this.” He pointed to Bleu’s chair and he complied, taking a seat so Maurizio could tie him.

He strolled to the door and knocked on it. As if summoned by name, the Engineer opened the door himself. He looked from Maurizio to Bleu and back, almost stunned at the change in color.

“Can hardly tell you’ve changed!” the Engineer chuckled nervously.

Maurizio cleared his throat, putting on a faux French accent that mimicked Bleu’s style of speaking, “Well? This is the idea, is it not?”

The Engineer frowned at Bleu, “What about this guy? You were around long enough that everybody knows you’re not French.”

“He’ll cooperate,” Maurizio said hastily.

The Engineer gave him a wary look, “How’d ya know that?”

Maurizio lowered his head to his ear and lowered his voice. He spoke so quietly that Bleu could not hear what he was saying. He watched his lips move, in a strained attempt to read them.

“Right,” the Engineer nodded, “You get an unloaded gun.” The Engineer handed Maurizio a revolver. Maurizio checked it over rather quickly, before giving him a smile. “I still don’t trust you, RED.”

“I wouldn’t either,” he nodded at the insistence of calling him a RED while he was dressed like a BLU, “It’s enough to put on a show.”

“Don’t be dramatic with it,” the Engineer insisted, “Most Spies ain’t theatrical like you, you know.” He paused to glance at the other Spy, “You any good at a Spanish accent.”

Bleu frowned with Maurizio on that one. That was rather disappointing for the RED dressed as a BLU. “I’m Italian,” was the stated retort.

Before the Engineer could go on to either apologize or tell him that he did not care, Bleu spoke up with his best imitation of his love, “No need to worry, amico! We’ll be fine, so long as we work together!”

The Engineer looked between the two of them with a shake of his head, “Creepy. But, it’ll do.”

“What? What’s so creepy?” Maurizio asked, as if he had been personally insulted. And maybe he thought he was.

“You two switching like that,” the Engineer noted, “Let’s go, I want you outta my base by the next sunrise.”

Relief hit Bleu as Maurizio came to untie him. He kept his voice low so only Maurizio could hear him, “You know we could have just done this without switching suits? He wouldn’t know the difference.”

Maurzio pushed the barrel of the gun against his neck as he rose to his feet. He frowned at him, letting him know that he knew there was no threat from the bullet-less weapon. Still, Maurizio continued to hold it there.

“I don’t trust you,” Maurizio motioned to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maurizio is pretending not to be in shock, stupefied, and extremely hurt. He has more important things to worry about.


	25. We’re not Going to a Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling's got her eyes on new recruits. Spy's got his eye on a visit with an old friend.

“There it is,” Miss Pauling pointed to the base they were pulling up to, “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Miss Pauling, do you think it’s such a good idea for you to go alone?” Scout asked, as if offering his own assistance.

“No offense Scout, but you should stay put,” she said, raising a hand, “These guys are super vigilant. We’ll be lucky if they don’t have an automated defense system.”

“And what are we gonna do then?” Scout went on.

“I am a little hazy on the details,” Andrew nodded in agreement.

“I am going in to talk to the REDs here,” she opened the car door.

“I am coming with you,” Antoine opened his door.

Miss Pauling hesitated, “Spy, no you’re not.”

Scout started giggling like an idiot, “You just got told!”

Antoine gave Scout a morose frown, “Hardly.” He turned his attention back to Miss Pauling. “You are not going alone with the chances of nine mercenaries turning on you.”

“Sound logic,” Andrew nodded in agreement, “I’m coming too!”

“You stay put!” Hugh interjected before Andrew could move.

“I’ll be fine,” Pauling said, “Just stay put guys.” She slammed the door shut and tromped towards the base.

Antoine looked to Hugh and he nodded. “Go make sure she doesn’t get killed,” he shot a warning look at Scout and Andrew.

Antoine nodded and got up to shut the door. He disappeared with an invis watch. Hugh gazed at the base, scanning for any signs of retaliation or danger in general.

“Don’t know what you’re worried about,” Scout said, folding his arms over his chest, with a pouting expression.

“I am worried about Miss Pauling’s health and safety,” he replied.

“She could get hurt! I thought you were worried too!” Andrew turned to the Scout with concern.

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Scout put his hand up defensively.

The car went silent, which was strange, considering Scout’s disposition. It left this strange tension in the air. It went unspoken, but Hugh was certain that there were a lot of things that the younger mercenary wanted to say. He rarely ever went silent for the sake of silence – and especially not for the sake of others.

It was a little over a half hour, before the Scout started jabbering, “What if they got attacked? What if they’re dead? It’s been like-” He leaned over and grabbed Andrew’s hand to look at a watch on his wrist. “It’s been like hours!”

“Just a little over half of an hour,” Andrew insisted.

“Hey, is that watch new?” Scout asked, momentarily distracted from his worry about Miss Pauling.

“Yea! Hu- Er you…um…well it’s a birthday present,” Andrew stammered.

Hugh looked into the rear-view mirror at his lover. The poor Soldier was smiling awkwardly like an absolute bumbling dork and hiding the rest of his face under his oversized helmet. When Andrew looked at him, he offered him an approving smile, to let him know that he was fooling the Scout just fine.

“It’s nice,” Scout commented pointedly, “Damn…I wish I got nice gifts. Guess I would need people around who actually pay attention to the fact that I don’t have the time on my hand for that.”

“Oh…I um…when’s your birthday, Scout?” Andrew asked, like the gullibly awkward idiot that he was.

“Oh…that’s uh…” Scout had not even realized the guilt trip he had fed Andrew.

Hugh decided to cut in before this awkward dance of nonsense went on between the Americans, “That’s not what he meant, Soldier. He’s just pouting that the RED Spy doesn’t pay him much mind, and hasn’t in their approximate seventy years together.”

Scout frowned at him, “Oh har har, mister I-know-everything-about-your-life!”

“Oui,” Hugh covered his smirk by putting a cigarette in his mouth to light. He was about to start up his lighter, when he saw Antoine coming towards the car. “I think we can nix the worries about at least one of them surviving in regards to what we can see,” he commented, “And given the way he is casually walking, he has either killed the entire RED team, or they have pacified them successfully. That could mean success for us.”

“Well, not if he killed them all!” Scout argued, with a frown, “We’re supposed to make friends with them for help, remember?”

“Considering he is not smoking a cigarette and springing with each step, there is no personal victory won,” Hugh went on, “So it is unlikely that he killed them all. At least five of them must still be fully alive.”

“Wouldn’t killing them send them through respawn anyways?” Andrew asked.

“Not if you shut it down,” Hugh shrugged.

“Wait a minute!” a look of panic hit the Scout’s face, “You can do that? You can shut off the respawn? Like…for good?! Like…for everybody?!”

“I never thought of that,” Andrew commented.

“Like…could _our_ respawn get shut down like that? I mean…back when we had one?” Scout asked, in a panicked manner.

“Scout, we are off respawn,” Hugh frowned, “It’s beyond our worries at this point if a respawn is down. We just need to stay alive.”

The car door opened and Antoine bent to talk to them, “I see you are still waiting?”

“Oui,” Hugh nodded.

“We did as Miss Pauling said!” Andrew added cheerfully.

“We were actually just thinking about coming in to make sure you guys didn’t die,” Scout added, with a cocky grin on his face.

“No we weren’t,” Hugh argued.

“Well, it was under discussion!” Scout insisted, almost forcefully.

“You were only concerned with Miss Pauling,” Andrew added, with an amused smirk.

“Well…she’s a really sweet lady! I would hate if something were to happen to her!” Scout suddenly looked from the Soldier to the RED Spy, who was quirking a questioning eyebrow at him, “Spy, you can take care of yourself fine! I know you! You always got tricks up your sleeve! Never gotta worry about you getting yourself killed!”

“Right,” Antoine seemed to be refraining from rolling his eyes as he turned to Hugh, “Since you’re not doing anything, you might as well head over to the next base over.”

“Next base over?” Hugh inquired.

“Turns out…according to Miss Pauling, you have an old friend there,” Antoine insisted.

“An old friend?” Hugh furrowed his brow a tiny bit.

Antoine gave him a pointed look. It must have meant something, something he was not telling him. Something he did not think that Scout and Soldier needed to hear.

Hugh cleared his throat, “Right then. What will you and Miss Pauling be doing?”

“Miss Pauling apparently has a lot to go over with them,” Antoine explained, “Half of them are uncertain about trusting her. And she’s convinced that we need to talk to the Medic over on BLU. But that’ll be for later.”

“You want us to head over to the other base and come back for you?” Hugh went on.

“I don’t feel comfortable about leaving Miss Pauling here alone. Well, I mean…not alone. Obviously Spy is here…it’s just that…” Scout rambled.

“Don’t worry,” Antoine told Scout, “We’ll have the Engineer and Medic as back up and as a ride. Don’t mind us.”

“And what about talking to that BLU Medic?” Hugh asked.

“We’re just going to send a message over the old fashion style,” Antoine shrugged, “You should head on over. We’re going to meet back at the motel by tomorrow morning. Hopefully if we have the standard supplies we need and this full set of a team, we should be able to take down that team of BLUs.”

Hugh took a breath and looked at the steering wheel. He hesitated for a moment, before switching to French. He did not want Andrew or Drake hearing and understanding what he was going to say.

“What are we doing all of this for?” he asked.

“We _are_ going for retrieval of the other RED Spy. I believe that is in the itinerary,” Antoine shrugged.

“Putting jokes aside, is this not much for one mercenary?” he asked, with a feeling of uncertainty in his gut.

He felt very vile for trying to talk about this in front of Andrew while he did not know better. He was literally trying to hide his thoughts about abandoning Andrew’s friend. Knowing Andrew, that would never go over well. He felt even guiltier when the Soldier’s old mantra about ‘never leaving a fellow soldier behind’ came into his mind.

“It’s just that, we don’t have much in the way of resources, and we’re betting everything to get what we need to defeat an entire team for one man? Not to mention, that team has a stable respawn at their disposal,” he explained, hoping to clarify his doubts.

“This is only a simple step,” Antoine assured him, “As finnicky as Miss Pauling is and how tedious retrieving one Spy from the grips of the enemy is…it is an important situation. Mercenaries are not the same these days as they once were, and they cannot be hired like thugs off the streets and shaped into the soldiers we have on each team. Doesn’t even seem to be common knowledge, you know? Miss Pauling is insistent that regardless of the person, man power is a very important resource that we cannot afford to abandon.”

“Are you two done Frenching it up?” the Scout intervened, Boston accented English breaking up the previous string of French.

“You going to be fine handling him?” Antoine asked in French.

Hugh chortled, “I’ve handled him for decades before. Besides, if he gets to be too much, I can sick Andrew on him.”

There was a twitch in Antoine’s lips, an undeterminable expression. As vague as it was, Hugh chose not to question it. It seemed like the best way to deal with it.

“Go get a Sniper,” Antoine said, before closing the door.

Hugh opened his mouth, but Antoine was no longer there to speak to. Besides, both of the others came over the back of the seat, trying to strike up a conversation in English. He was half sure that Scout waAs going to try and crawl into the front seat.

“What now?” Scout asked.

“Are we going to some other BLU base?” Andrew asked.

“Something like that,” he glanced over at the other car sitting nearby. The two REDs were chattering idly, but Antoine was approaching their vehicle, so they might be preoccupied soon enough.

Hugh started the car and put it into gear. His mind rushed with curiosity as to what Antoine thought he would accomplish with vagueness. Scout and Soldier would be there with him for wherever he was going. That meant he suspected somebody else was listening. Then again, now that he remembered he was at a base, it was likely there were cameras on them from every angle. That meant microphones to enhance noises and voices as well.

He pulled out, hurrying back to the road out of there. His mind was buzzing with what Antoine said. If he meant an old friend who was a Sniper, he could not mean anybody other than Glen. That thought made him sigh. Glen was not at the next base over, but Hugh did know where his family was living, having kept tabs on him since they last met.

He put his vehicle at top gear as his mind buzzed with thoughts. He could hear Andrew and the Scout talking in the back seat, but it was like a buzz. It became shadowy nonsense to his ears, English buzzing around in his mind in a meaningless manner. He was too focused on the road ahead and his thoughts, sucking into himself.

Antoine had made a point about every man being important. That meant that not only was Maurizio important for being a good friend, but that they had a more strategic reason for rescuing him. As chivalrous as it may have been to be rescuing him as a friend, but as a professional, he had to admit this was much to do for somebody most of them were not at all _charmed_ by. Andrew and Scout considered him a good friend, and the RED Spy seemed to think highly enough of him.

 

He was shaken from his thoughts when a hand gently laid on his shoulder. He let off of the gas and glanced over his shoulder at the Soldier looking at him. Neither of them said anything for a long time.

“You wanna slow down there, buddy?” Scout asked, “You’ve been speeding an awful long time. You don’t think the next base is that far out, do you? Do you even know where it is? He wasn’t very clear about where we’re going. I mean, we can’t be going too far. We’re supposed to meet them back soon. We’re coming back, right?”

“Not quite,” he replied, “We’ll meet back up at the motel tomorrow morning. Hopefully this’ll be a quick meeting.”

“How do you suppose we’ll deal with walking onto another BLU base, anyhow?” Scout asked.

“We will give them hell!” Andrew announced.

“We did that last time, or at least we tried to,” Scout argued, arms folded over his chest, “It didn’t work out.”

“This time I have a rocket launcher!” Andrew told him, proudly.

“Yes, well we aren’t going to a base,” Hugh chuckled as he interrupted their exchange.

“What? But I thought he said we needed to hop over to the next base,” Scout argued.

“He was being cryptic,” Hugh replied.

“Spies tend to do that,” Andrew nodded.

Hugh chuckled, “He was covering because of the cameras. It is bad enough we were likely caught on cameras. That data will be at Mann Co. Let’s hope it’s overlooked. But, in case it’s not, let’s not lead them straight to our old Sniper.”

“Our old Sniper? You mean Glen? We’re picking up Glen?” Andrew sounded a little excited.

“Oh joy,” Scout looked even more sour, “More old teammates.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Andrew turned to look at Scout.

“Well…Sniper wasn’t a bad guy…but he wasn’t the most…interesting to talk to,” Scout explained hesitantly.

“I would argue to the contrary,” Hugh protested, in defense of his old friend, “Once you get to know him, he’s full of chatter.”

“Ugh…yea…” Scout rolled his eyes, “Now he’s got a wife and kid. I’m not even sure what kinda man that makes you into.”

“Uh…a normal man?” Andrew offered.

“We’re mercenaries though,” Scout explained, “We don’t do what normal men do. Our state of normal is basically wake up, eat, kill, dance triumphantly and brag about your kills! And then eat some more.”

“Speaking of which, I could go for grub,” Andrew said, as his stomach started growling.

“When we get to where we are going, you two can go track down a place for food,” he offered, “I have a Sniper to recruit.”

“I just hope he won’t be like Demo was,” Scout said, with a pouting expression on his face.

“Like Demo?” Hugh inquired, glancing at the youth’s reflection in the rear-view mirror.

“He was a total asshole,” Andrew spoke up. It sounded rather crude coming from Andrew’s mouth, given how positively he usually spoke of people, especially colleagues. “Wouldn’t even acknowledge me when they were interrogating me. It was like he did not even know me.”

“Ouch. Jeez. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I mean, you have drinks with a guy for what? Like seven decades…and he turns around and does that?!” Scout said, patting Andrew’s shoulder.

“I am over it!” Andrew announced, “I am a man after all! I don’t need to cry about it!”

Hugh chuckled and relaxed in his seat. He decided to just blissfully listen to their banter until they reached their destination. It was kind of relaxing to listen to them converse. It was like they were back at the base again, and Spy was the quiet fly on the wall, watching his teammates as they socialized in the recreational room. Only now the Demo was the butt of their jokes, instead of the guy they praised for his high quality drink mixing skills and high tastes in alcohol.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Glen was so happy to be home for the weekend. Relaxed on the couch, he felt like the world on base had melted away. That was until the incessant voices of a kids’ show on the television came on.

He tilted up his hat to glance at the screen. Bright flashy colors were entertaining his little girl. While the noises were disturbing, seeing her dance around with such delight made it kind of worth it. She could have her hour of this nonsense, and then he could have quiet peace. Besides, it was not like his base was any quieter than this. By comparison, the delighted squeals of a little girl were much more peaceful than the rough shouting of mercenaries who wanted to kill you or wanted you to be better at your job.

“Glen!” Melisa called from across the house, “Company!”

He blinked sleepily. Who would be coming here looking for him? Unless…

Dread struck him and he rushed to the door, wanting to put himself in between Melisa and danger. Even if it was just Miss Pauling, he knew that both women could hold their own, but he did not want to chance the mother of his baby. He was surprised when he threw the door aside and pushed Melisa back to see the figure of a BLU Spy on his doorstep.

Looking casual and cool, collected and undisturbed on his porch, the Spy inspected his cigarette in a suave manner. He finally turned and gave Glen a look of greeting, like he had been expecting him sooner and got bored. It was like when Glen was invited to visit with him, on rare occasions, back on the base. When Glen ever actually got around to visiting with him on his turf, where he wanted to – meaning anywhere out of the recreation room – Spy would just have this look that seemed to say he was waiting a very long time, even if he was not.

“Glen honey, calm down!” Melisa protested, pushing him aside, “Spy! Come on in! It’s good to see you.”

“It’s lovely to see you as well,” Spy took her hand in two hands and gave her a warm smile. How strange it felt to see them having such a strangely sweet exchange. Then again, they hit it off after the first time they met. “But, I am afraid this is not a personal visit.” He turned his attention to Glen, which made him feel worried.

“Oh! Did something happen? Are you alright?” Melisa asked, with concern.

“I am fine…but Glen…may I have a moment of your time?” he asked, gesturing outside in hopes that the Sniper might visit with him alone.

He was about to protest when he heard the baby start crying. He turned to see Melisa hurry off to comfort Esperanza. Figuring they were well distracted, he stepped out and closed the door, letting himself bask in the sunlight in his tank top.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Miss Pauling requires recruits,” Spy explained.

“I’m not up for recruiting,” Glen replied, folding his arms over his chest defensively.

“I understand that,” Spy gave him a gentle nod.

“Why didn’t Pauling come here herself?” he asked, feeling a little suspicious. Given how things had been going in about the past six months, there was reason to be suspicious of Spies and of Miss Pauling, faux or otherwise.

“She is busy,” Spy replied, “Probably likely thinks that my coming here would more likely get you to join us than she could.”

Glen’s lips tightened, as he tried to refrain from shouting at his old friend. He was angry at him, both for thinking he could come here and recruit him for Miss Pauling, and for being gone for so long. Where had he been? Where had he gone? Did he really think he could just come back and have the same influence?

“I understand,” Spy said.

“Oh? You understand?” Glen asked, pressing with his tone.

“If you won’t assist, I will cover for you,” he told him.

Glen reached out carefully to put his hand on Spy’s shoulder. The hesitation made Spy flinch, and he looked at the hand like some invasive foreign object. There was no smoke from touching him, which meant that he was not using a disguise kit. There was only one thing left then, to make sure that this was definitely the Spy he knew.

“Tell me something only the _real_ Spy would know,” he demanded.

“What?” Spy looked at him reproachfully.

“You heard me!” he said sternly.

The Spy’s eyelids lowered as he glared at Glen. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. He seemed to be measuring him up.

“Tell me something that only the Spy that I know would know!” he demanded fervently.

He felt a little silly, as this was probably the right guy. But in the past months of seeing so many spies come and go at one base, and not seeing his fried in a whole year, it was not a bad idea to be careful. Besides, it was not like his friend was undeserving of this treatment after being away for so long.

“Very well,” the Spy drew close, moving his head over Glen’s shoulder, until his mouth came very close to his ear. It took everything in his restraint to sit still and not shove the guy off, suspecting him of hiding a blade that would soon drive into his gut. “Your pants are unbuttoned.”

Stunned, he simply stared at the Spy, who took a small puff of his cigarette. The man simply went back to his casual and suave appearance, as if nothing happened. When he looked down, he found that he was indeed completely open, having been relaxing on the couch before. He quickly covered his shame and fixed the problem.

“I figured there was no better time to tell you,” the Spy noted, with a sly smirk on his face.

He frowned though he could feel the heat in his cheeks and ears, “I bet you liked that.”

“I do tend to like others’ humiliation,” he snickered, “You’re my friend though, so I only pick on you for so long.” Spy’s smirk turned into something of a fond smile. “I really am glad to see you, Glen,” he said, “And I really _do_ understand that you need to take care of your family.”

“Yea well…” Glen hesitated, still trying to clear his mind of the earlier embarrassment, “They’re your family too, you know? You’re Esperanza’s godfather. The one that named her.”

Spy smiled at that, looking quite pleased. I was nice to see Spy smile so much. He always thought the man would come back into his life with something to whine or bitch about. Maybe him and the Soldier would have broken up and he would have come to cry about losing the man he loved, except that Spy would not cry, he would keep it all bottled in and just pout. He would pout for weeks until he exploded.

“Either way, you should get them to someplace safe,” Spy started down the stairs of the porch.

“Wait! You’re leaving? Already?” Glen pleaded. His friend had just got here. Surely he could stay a bit longer so they could enjoy each other’s company.

“I could only drop by for a short gab,” the Spy insisted, “Right now, Soldier and Scout are waiting for me. And I am needed at a mission by tomorrow morning. And like I said, get those two girls to a new location. I’ll find you another time. I promise, when I have time off, we’ll talk. For now, I’ll see you another time.”

Glen watched him go, waving slowly. He felt kind of like a kicked puppy. It was almost guilty in a way. He wanted to go and run after Spy. He wanted to rejoin his friend in old hijinks. He _wanted_ to help him out. But, he could not risk Melisa and their daughter over a desire to get into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some art that I made of Glen!  
> https://freelancemem.deviantart.com/art/Daddy-Sniper-Glen-667991732
> 
> Also...trying to get my hands on a new computer. It's going to be a few months though it seems. So writing is going to be slow from here on out.


	26. Jealous Ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleu gets messed up over Maurizio. The Engineer has second thoughts about this little plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're still stuck there...

Maurizio strangled himself internally, choking up on the foolishness of his actions and the presence of the other Spy. What was Bleu doing here? Why was he being like this? And why could he not keep his head straight?

His act was not even shaky when he made every demand. Even when Bleu asked why they even switched places, he was stern with his words. Now thinking on what excuse he gave, it made more sense than anything.

He pushed the empty pistol to Bleu’s back, just below the neck. His free hand pushed him out the door by his shoulder. He would not listen to Bleu, no matter what happened. All of the feelings bubbling to the surface had to mean nothing, when he was the threat against his friends.

“Maurice, I know that thing isn’t loaded,” he scorned, “You don’t have to be so brash about all of this.”

He grabbed Bleu’s arm and twisted around to his back, giving him a little discomfort and pain. Just a little though, he did not have the heart to hurt this BLU Spy. There was something unbearable about the thought of even making him slightly uncomfortable. He had to push that feeling down though, it was ridiculous nostalgia over the presence of this man.

“You shut up, and you move,” Maurizio growled sternly. He adapted Bleu’s voice quite well. It was not hard to do, having heard all forms of emotions from the man’s mouth.

“Please Maurizio, don’t do like this,” Bleu pleaded. Maurizio doubted that he meant the actual discomfort that he was being given.

“I don’t want to hear you talk, I want you to shut the fuck up!” Maurizio growled low.

There was a visible tremor that ran through Bleu’s body. It bewildered Maurizio. He wanted to ask “pardon me?” but did not quite know how to react. There were very few instances in which Bleu tremored. He never let on his emotions openly, and he never let people know when he was upset. Maurizio had to have him in the most vulnerable position to get him to behave like that.

“Just…when this is over…when we’re driving away from here…promise me you’ll talk to me,” Bleu said, with pleading in his tone.

He chose to say nothing, letting the coldness of his refusal sink in openly. He did not want to give him the opportunity. No less, he was sure his own emotions would open up on him like a can of grasshoppers. He had a mission to get to, he had to return to Miss Pauling, to find out what she was up to and see about his friends. If nothing else, he wanted to be with his friends.

“I have so much to say…” Bleu’s pleading tone continued, “Just please…let me.”

They both fell silent before they stepped out into the hallway. The Engineer and the Heavy Weapons Guy were both waiting for them there. When both of them looked to see the Spies, they exchanged a glance. Maurizio wondered if the Heavy knew, if he was in on everything, or if he was an unknowing passenger to this wild ride.

“I am sure the Administrator will have more questions for him,” Maurizio used his best version of Bleu’s voice, “I’ll leave you all to your work, and get him to interrogation.”

“And our Spy?” the Engineer had a wary tone in his voice.

“We’ll work something out with the Administrator,” he offered.

“And what if _she_ wants you to come back and finish the job that you started?” the Engineer took a step in their direction.

Maurizio recognized this line of questioning. Not the questions itself, but something in the tone and the mannerisms. Most people overlooked it as simply being wariness, but there was more to it. It was not just wariness and fear, it was second thoughts and doubts. He was not even sure Bleu picked up on the Engineer’s inner monologue. He probably thought it was part of the act, to make everything quite believable about picking up this Spy and leaving the other.

“See, I don’t reckon I like the risk,” the Engineer went on.

“I promised you no harm,” Maurizio went on, keeping his gestures subtle and almost rigid, more like the French Spies he had seen. Less of his own flowy and dramatic gestures.

“Nah, see here son…I reckon they wouldn’t send _you_ back here,” the Engineer said, with a frustratiningly stern voice. He took a step towards them. The Heavy was watching warily, looking half unsure and half certain that he might have to kill a couple of Spies.

“You don’t have to worry about it!” Maurizio exclaimed, almost too abruptly for any regular Spy.

“See, I reckon they- _she’d_ think that you failed your mission. You didn’t complete the entire task,” Engineer went on.

“If that is the case, I will bring the paperwork myself!” Maurizio insisted. He was growing a bit desperate, but he did not let it show. “It’s not much anyways!” he assured him.

“They won’t want _you_ bringing that paperwork here,” the Engineer growled. His good hand was twitching by the pistol at his belt.

Maurizio’s eyes flinched from the gun in the Engineer’s holster to the Heavy waiting behind him. The big man was smart enough to see where this was going, eyes flashing with a look of readiness – a readiness to fight. He was getting fists ready to grab and punch, while the Engineer was getting ready to shoot like an old western gun slinger. At this point, it was not time to question it or try to talk him down anymore. Besides, there was not much he could do while pretending to be Bleu. Bleu was not a sensible people person with any kind of charm. Pretending to be Bleu and using his own charm would simply not work. Though he figured the _being French_ angle would help a bit.

“I can’t risk a teammate…not if it’s gonna be another Spy that comes in with guns blazing!” the Engineer said, his fingers going to the pistol.

That was it. It was time to get out of there. Maurizio turned and high tailed it down the hallway. He did not even wait for Bleu’s reaction. He released the other Spy entirely. He did not pay attention to where he was going either, he just tried to make his escape quick and around as many corners as he could. He had to get to some place that the Engineer could not shoot him, which was not easy in a place built to allow people to shoot at each other at will.

“Get back here! You yellow belly son of a gun!” the Engineer called after him. He would have laughed if he was not fearing for his life – only a morally mindful kind of Engineer minded his language. An Engineer like Dooley would have let out a long slur of southern euphemisms for skinning a large rodent.

He could hear Bleu’s footsteps behind and to the right of him though. He could hear his breathing too. He could feel that fear of what was coming. They could hear what was coming, as the Engineer and the Heavy came barreling after them. Thankfully they were much slower than the two Spies fleeing for their lives. The only reason they could keep up with them was that they knew these hallways better than the two from outside the base.

He would have yelped if he was not so busy panting, when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him off balance. Bleu almost passed right by him, but darted inside after him. A hand touched Maurizio’s mouth, gently coaxing him to silence as they hid in a dark alcove that did not seem easily visible. They watched as the two BLUs ran past, not even noticing the divergence from the usual path.

When they were gone, two hands slowly turned him around manually. He blinked at the resident BLU Spy, feeling just a bit confused. He had saved him, and for what? He was trying to wrap his head around this thought as the other man looked him up and down.

“What are you wearing?” the resident BLU asked, confusedly.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu was not sure what came over him. When the time came to pretend to be Maurizio, he could not even say a word. He was too deep in thought. Every once in a while, when Maurizio would speak, he came out of his thoughts to listen. Was that how he sounded to Maurizio? Was that how he thought of them?

He was not paying attention well enough to catch onto what was really going on. Whether this was part of the plan or not seemed like a moot point. It was not on Bleu’s mind though.

Before, he had been sure that he would get his chance to talk to Maurizio. But, once the man took on his voice, there seemed to be something uncanny about how messed up he seemed. He did not let it show, using his well-toned acting skills to pretend to be the BLU Spy, however the uncanny frustration, the irritation in the voice, and the unbreakableness of it was strange. Maurizio usually broke even for a moment, just to say something to him, as if to reassure him, but this time he just seemed certain that he would keep up the act in an unbreakable manner.

He was desperate now, he had to talk to Maurizio. There had to be time for them to get things out there. He had to know how sorry he was for years of lies and secrets. He had to know that he forgave him for what happened in the snowy mountains. He had to know that Bleu would not hold a grudge and that he still loved him deeply.

The moment Maurizio fled, Bleu did not hesitate. He stayed right at his heel, figuring he might just know where he was going. If not they were lost, and Bleu did not know his way around this base anyways. Not that it was much different from other bases – which often took on a patterned sameness.

When that resident BLU Spy grabbed Maurizio, his defensiveness kicked in. He was ready to beat the shit outta that Spy. He ducked into their alcove, but upon seeing that he was quieting Maurizio while the teammates passed by, he remained silent. He waited, listening to their breathing until the Engineer and Heavy were gone.

“What are you wearing?” the resident Spy asked, bewildered as he looked Maurizio up and down.

“It’s a long story,” Maurizio said, dropping the French act in favor of his own behavior. No point in pretending if his act was caught.

“You look stupid,” the man looked at the jacket sleeves, which were too short for Maurizio’s arms.

Bleu opened his mouth, but Maurizio spoke before him, ignoring Bleu’s presence entirely, “Yes well…I didn’t have a lot of windows to shop in.”

The other BLU Spy looked Bleu up and down, with eyebrows raised, “You can’t even _grow_ to fit that.”

Maurizio laughed, “Okay, enough picking on Réne. I have to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?” the man asked, taking Maurizio’s hands.

Bleu watched, feeling bewildered and horrified. It was a gesture akin to somebody who was close. Knowing Maurizio, this was not a man close by friendship or blood. This had to be something else. His blood immediately began to boil as his head swam with thoughts about the two of them.

“I honestly cannot tell you,” Maurizio squeezed the other man’s hands, “But…I have to escape.”

The man looked a little unsettled, his act dropping ever so slightly to show uncertainty on his face. His French even sounded weird. Maybe he was an American Spy pretending to be French for the sake of it. He did not remember anything on this man’s origins, probably because he spent more time ruminating about Maurizio and saving him than he did studying this other Spy he was supposed to kill.

“The conflict is real,” the resident Spy said, with a heavy sigh.

“And I understand,” Maurizio replied, “Do you want to help me escape, or do you want to be an uninvolved patron?”

The resident Spy chuckled and shook his head, “I already know where you are. I should be telling them where.”

“That’s not the point,” Maurizio shook his head, “They don’t know that you know. So why would they know that you know?”

The resident Spy sighed, “You’re a RED.”

“Only by the color of my clothes,” Maurizio insisted, “Never got around to my blue set yet.”

The resident Spy started laughing, squeezing Maurizio’s hands. There was something so happy and gleeful between the two of them that it made Bleu feel sick. He folded his arms over his chest and turned his face away. He did not want to be a witness to whatever this nonsense was.

“He’s serious,” Bleu put in, “He’s supposed to have a blue suit as well. I simply don’t have my red one on hand.”

“You’re serious? Are we all supposed to have suits of both colors?” the resident Spy sounded almost innocent, like a young idiot.

“No, not really,” Maurizio said, in a sweet an caring voice.

Bleu’s stomach roiled, “Though for espionage reasons, you probably should have both.”

“Shut up, Bleu,” Maurizio growled.

“We should move before they get to the cameras,” the resident Spy said, worriedly, “They’ll be looking for you.”

“So you _are_ helping?” Maurizio asked, teasingly.

A bit of rouge filled the resident Spy’s cheeks and he averted his eyes, “Just…come on.” He took Maurizio’s wrist and led him from the alcove down the hallway. Bleu followed at a short distance, not wanting to be involved in this, but also not wanting to be left behind.

They entered a smoking room and the door shut behind him. There was a pause though, as the resident Spy looked at him. He did not show any immediate emotional response, so it was hard to tell if perhaps he was irritated at Bleu’s presence. All things considered, this was probably the case.

“Is he really…?” he let his words trail off, gesturing to Bleu and looking to Maurizio.

Maurizio sighed, “He comes with me.”

“You’re saving this guy? Look, I don’t understand what the situation is, but I gather enough to know he’s bad news,” the resident Spy insisted.

Maurizio nodded a little, “Bad news then, captive now.”

“So…you intended to walk out of here pretending to be him? I am rather uncertain on the details, but I don’t think even _you_ thought this through,” the resident Spy pressed.

“Ugh…let’s talk about this in private,” Maurizio insisted, motioning to the door at the other end of the smoking room. How odd that the door was right there, out in the open.

“What about _him_?” the other asked, throwing a thumb at Bleu.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Maurizio waved a hand dismissively.

“Are you sure about that?” the other Spy gave him a worried look.

“Where’s he gonna go? Out to get his head shot off?” Maurizio asked, “At least the Engineer _knows_ he’s a greater threat to this team than _I_ am.”

“How do you suppose that?” the other Spy asked, with a frown.

“What do you mean?” Maurizio gave him an innocent look.

“You’re the RED,” the other insisted, “How is he more of a threat? How could he even be _perceivably_ a greater threat?”

“There are…details…I cannot share,” Maurizio shared, hesitantly.

“You won’t share them with me, huh?” the resident Spy frowned at him.

Maurizio shook his head, “No. But, I will share that Demo and Engineer know too. And anybody who saw him anyways would knock his skull off.” He pointed to Bleu in a vague kind of gesture. “He’s in a red suit after all. Obviously a RED, in their eyes.”

The resident Spy shook his head, “Alright. I guess you _did_ think of everything.”

“Shall we go speak in private now?” Maurizio motioned to the door at the other side of the room.

“As if I don’t already know,” Bleu rolled his eyes, growing more frustrated at their treatment of him as a third party, a third wheel.

“He knows the details?” the resident Spy asked.

“He knows,” Maurizio nodded, “He knows too much.” He took the resident Spy’s wrist and led him to the door. The man did not protest, apparently wanting to be dragged along.

Bleu could not sit down on the couch or the leather lounge chair. All of the seats looked very comfortable, but he was too on edge. Every thought burned his skin, as his stomach riled up with curiosity about what they were doing in what was likely the resident Spy’s bedroom. He did not want to think about it, nor think the least of Maurizio, but there was something uncanny about the way they talked to each other, and how eager he seemed to go into that bedroom.

He could probably just walk in there and pop the resident Spy in the face. Then he remembered that he did not have a gun, so no bullets to put into his brain. The only thing he could put in that guy’s face was a fist. That was not much, when compared to a bullet, especially given that the other two equated to two times the fists that he had.

One on one, he could take on Maurizio. The Italian had never been good at fighting, not to a great extent. He had gotten worse over the years, relying on backstabbing tactics and guns. He was good enough with a gun. But with an unknown adversary, they could easily overrun him.

He did not like his odds against them. He did not like his odds against the team. He did not like their odds of survival over all. He especially did not like the odds that Maurizio was in that room with the other Spy with intimate matters at hand.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Forbes tromped back and forth in the room, pacing awkwardly. It had been a couple of hours since he heard anything about what was going on. It was best if he stayed out of it though, he assured himself. He had agreed with the Engineer that he had too much personal contact with these Spies in the past.

Given how friendly he knew the RED Spy to be, from past experiences, he felt bad. He had done what he could, given the Engineer the assurance he needed that this man was a friendly guy with no ill-intentions. So, as long as everything went alright, he would be leaving the base and taking that other BLU Spy with him. Forbes figured he was probably being brought back as a cover story, to be shot down in place of the resident Spy here. How they would hide their Spy though was beyond him.

Cameras were everywhere. Cameras gave data to the Administration. Cameras would give away everything.

Suddenly the door opened. To his chagrin, it did not sound like the Engineer was coming back with good news. He turned to his teammate, ready for whatever was going down, hoping that it was not murder.

“Those sons of bitches ran!” the Engineer exclaimed.

“What?” Demo blinked at him, unsure if perhaps he needed to get some alcohol into his system to make sense of this or not.

“They took off!” the Engineer exclaimed.

“Isn’t that…? Wasn’t that…? Wasn’t that the plan?” Forbes frowned at his teammate.

“I can’t trust that snake,” the Engineer hissed angrily.

“Which snake are we talkin’ about, mate?” Forbes asked, with worry.

“The Spy that came in threatening our Spy,” the Engineer said, with a nasty snarl.

“What’d he do? Say a thing in French or something?” Forbes rolled his eyes.

“Look, I get you like those boys. I’ll bet you anythin’ that that Italian boy’s the nicest fella. But that Frenchman? He’s one step away from a bullet to the head,” the Engineer growled.

“I ain’t seen you this angry, mate,” Forbes noted, “What’s really got you riled up? What happened?”

“It’s a gut feeling,” the Engineer pressed, “And what’s to say they won’t turn on us anyways? Hmm?”

Forbes shook himself, “You’re not serious, are you? What did you do?”

“I tried to take out that BLU guy…but they both started runnin’ like idiots. I wasn’t gonna kill the Italian,” Engineer assured him.

“Fuck’s sake,” Forbes muttered. He took his hat off his head to brush a hand over his hair. He placed it carefully back over the recently shaven hair. “Of course they both ran! You spooked the spooks!” Forbes exclaimed.

“What? I was panicking!” the Engineer insisted.

“Look, let’s just get on the cameras and find that BLU,” Forbes insisted, “Réne is trouble I don’t want to deal with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like they are going to be stuck there longer.  
> Maurizio got a bit of torture, and this chapter was going to be about more Maurizio...  
> Somehow it flipped on me and I ended up writing about Bleu's torment. Serves him right anyways.  
> What Maurizio lacks in fighting skills, he makes up for in charm and acting chops.
> 
> *Edit*  
> In case you are checking back on this, I was planning to have a new chapter up, but I have been stricken very ill. Following my stressful work, I fell into a bout of viral influenza and between the horrendously painful coughing and the fever, I am not at my best for writing.  
> Thank you for being patient. Hopefully I will be well enough soon to actually finish the next chapter.


	27. You Have to Relocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People need to relocate so Mann Co cannot hurt them.

Hugh stopped near the car to turn to Glen, giving him a reassuring smile, “Like I said, I am not going to push this. But, regardless of your decision, you need to relocate Melisa and Esperanza.”

Before the Sniper could respond, the familiar shouts of a particularly familiar Soldier and a Scout came from afar, “I come bringing food!”

Scout came running, faster than the Soldier, “Hey Sniper! Long time no see!” The younger man raised a hand, offering a slap.

The Sniper looked at him, not necessarily confused, but certainly not amused. He just sort of looked at the Scout with such disinterest that the youth might as well have been a stranger.

“Er…Scout…remember?” the younger man offered, “Used to be on the same team?”

“Yea, I remember you,” Glen said, with irritation, “Didn’t much like you.”

Scout frowned up at the Sniper, “Anyways…you joining the team?”

Glen opened his mouth to answer, but Hugh spoke up for him, “No, he is not. This is a social call.”

“A social call?” Scout gave him a bewildered look, “Spy…man…I thought we were supposed to go to a base and do a thing.”

“Well, it turns out that that base was demolished, and the team was scattered,” Hugh lied.

“Well…this has been a big freakin’ waste of time!” Scout declared, with an irritated sigh.

“Not entirely,” Hugh shrugged, “We got to see Sniper again.” That was mostly just a victory for himself. He had not realized that he missed his friend, hearing his familiar voice and seeing his smile. “And found that Melisa and the baby are alright,” he added in.

There was only a moment of silence, the Sniper nodding and smiling. It was only a moment though. There was a strange look of glee that passed under the Soldier’s helmet. He saw it and became startled as Andrew started smiling broadly.

“We should go see Melisa and Esperanza!” the Soldier announced loudly.

“What? Er…now’s not a good time,” Glen put his hands up defensively.

“What? We totally should!” Scout added, growing excited because of Andrew.

“This was not meant to be a long visit,” Hugh insisted, hoping to settle them down. He felt just a little bit embarrassed in front of Glen.

“I would like to see the baby!” Andrew announced. There was a stubbornness that Hugh recognized in his voice. But maybe there was time yet to fight through that stubbornness.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Glen insisted, “You don’t need to come in now.”

“We should be going anyways,” Hugh insisted, “We are supposed to meet the others by tomorrow mor-”

Andrew folded his arms over his chest. His jaw set into a stubborn look. It seemed to lock there as he squared his shoulders to his waist.

“I’m not getting into the car until I get to see Esperanza!” he said a bit loudly.

Spy sighed with exasperation, “Soldier, _please_ don’t do this.”

“Nah man,” Scout folded his arms and joined Andrew’s side, “We ain’t goin’ anywhere until we get to see that baby!”

“I’m pretty sure this is not a democracy,” Glen said, sternly.

Knowing Andrew, he would throw his hissy fit all night until he got what he wanted. He was a stubborn man when he wanted to be. Hugh sighed and turned to his friend.

“I’m afraid you’re outnumbered,” he told the Sniper.

“ _I’m_ outnumbered?” Glen blinked at him.

Hugh took a couple of steps in Andrew’s direction, moving sideways so he was still facing Glen. He folded his arms over his chest, to show his own stubbornness. He gave Andrew a sideways curious look, finding a bigger smile on the man’s face than before.

“We’d like to have a _short_ visit with Esperanza. Besides, we have…Andrew, what did you get?” he looked to the Soldier.

“Burritos and tacos,” Scout said, opening a white bag and peering into it, “We got so many cause we’re hungry. I’m not really sure if we can eat them all.”

Hugh sighed and turned to Glen, “We could use a rest if you wouldn’t mind having us for a minute? We’ll share tacos.”

“I don’t want your tacos! I want some damn peace!” Glen threw his arms into the air.

“It’ll just be for a short visit,” he assured Glen. He did not much like the idea of trying to eat while driving anyways, and he was rather hungry.

“I come home to get away from mercenaries, why would I let you lot in my house?!” Glen stammered, taken aback by their lack of sympathy for his plight.

“What about me?” Hugh put on a pathetic look to garter some guilt from Glen.

“I…you…you’re different…you’re a friend…a friend who’s not supposed to know where I live,” Glen scratched his neck as he stammered nervously. He averted his eyes, trying to not meet Hugh’s gaze as guilt hit him.

“ _That_ is old news,” Hugh waved a hand dismissively, “And besides, if I’m your friend…then Soldier’s your friend’s boyfriend.”

“And _**I’m**_ the other guy friend!” Scout said, pointing two thumbs at himself.

There was silent as the three of them stared at Scout. They were both bewildered that he took that up so quickly and unsure as to whether he got what they were talking about. Granted, Hugh remembered hinting at having intimate relations with Andrew before, but he was not sure he outright told the boy they were still together. It was likely he had just forgotten that the two of them were anything more than friends.

“I…still! My opinion stands!” Glen declared, with a harrumph.

Hugh closed his eyes for a moment. This was the time when he really had to drag the guilt out of Glen. If not for anything else, for Andrew.

Glen never really liked the Soldier. He never liked any Soldiers, whether they were RED or BLU. He did not like this Soldier and he did not like the other Soldier they had had on their team. He did not want to get to know them, and would rather stay far away from noisy and loud characters like Andrew.

Still, there was something about all of this that seemed wrong. To Hugh it seemed wrong anyways. He was here, with his lover and his friend, and they were not even going to get along. He was not going to tolerate that kind of behavior from his friend or his boyfriend – though to be honest he was tolerating his boyfriend’s demands over his friend’s demands for various reasons. The first reason being that Hugh himself would enjoy a visit with his godchild.

“Glen, I know I’ve been away,” Hugh said, with a guilty tone, “I have been away for a long time, and I’m sorry for that. I should have contacted you sooner. I should have tried to stay in touch, but I did not. I am sorry for that, and while I would like to make amends, I would also like to visit with your wife and child – _my godchild_.”

“But you-” Glen started to protest, but Hugh cut him off with an abrupt raise of the hand and a shake of his head.

“This is not up for debate,” Hugh said, “You’re outnumbered three to one. And it’s not going to do any harm to just let us visit with her for ten minutes.”

There were a few moments of silence as they waited. Finally, Glen caved with an exasperated sigh and a grumble about them being pushy mongrels. Andrew giggled with glee and Scout started hooting and hollering.

“Woo hoo! We won!” Scout threw a fist into the air, victoriously.

“Not much of a win,” Hugh shook his head as he followed Glen back to his house. Andrew and Scout followed along behind him.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio was buttoning up his shirt, or rather Bleu’s shirt on himself, while watching the other man do the same out of the corner of his eye. It would be nice to revel in the moment a little longer, but there would not be many moments before somebody at Administration figured out that Bleu was not coming back with his targets.

“You need to get out of here,” he spoke up.

“What?” the other man’s head swiveled to look at him.

“If you stay here, they’re going to kill you,” he explained.

“If what you told me is true, then I could just kill that other Spy out there,” the man shrugged dismissively.

“No no,” Maurizio waved a hand at him, gesturing for him to calm down, “Listen. It doesn’t matter if you kill him. He’s just a pawn. He’s a tool that they use for their dirty work. If you break their tool, they get another one. And they have a lot of them. You can’t last against so many tools.”

“What do you suggest I do then? Pack and abandon my team?” the man offered, “You might be able to do that when things get tough, but not…this isn’t just a team. Okay? I mean…some of these guys I could live without, but the rest are family. Engineer, Scout, Sniper…I can’t just leave them.”

“They would want you to if it meant you would be safe,” Maurizio argued.

“Tell me something,” the other asked, “Why are you keeping _him_ alive?”

Maurizio clicked his tongue as he pulled on the jacket. He had been trying to avoid this as much as possible. He would just have to hope on hopes that he would accept a vague answer.

“Call it an act of being a good Samaritan,” he explained, “He did not know what he was getting into, and it was never anything personal. So, I’m not taking it personally.”

“I think you should,” the other man argued, “He was going to kill you.”

Maurizio opened his mouth, about to protest and say that the man would never. But, he could not protest too much. That would look bad for him. Still, he did not want anybody to know how closely associated he was with Bleu, not yet. Any faith had in him would dwindle.

“Help us sneak out,” Maurizio insisted, “You know this place better than anybody. You know the best routes for sneaking. You would know how to get out of here unseen better than anybody else! Help us, and then come with us.”

“As swell as that sounds,” the man folded his arms over his chest and looked at the floor, “This isn’t a fairytale.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not,” Maurizio nodded in agreement.

“I have a team here,” he added.

“And if you stay with that team, Mann Co is gonna send another assassin,” Maurizio insisted.

“We’ll deal with that as it comes,” the other man said, with a stern nod. He dropped his arms to his sides and looked to Maurizio with such determination.

“You realize…this is your boss sending killers after you…what are you even thinking?” Maurizio asked, “What exactly do you think all of this is? If you stay here, you’re going to be taken off of payroll eventually. This isn’t so much a paid job as it is a death trap. And that Soldier?”

“You let me worry about him,” the other man insisted.

Maurizio sighed, “You won’t listen to reason though, will you?”

“I suppose not,” the other man shook his head, “But I will help you out of here.”

“Thanks,” Maurizio smiled and nodded in gratitude.

Once they were finished dressing, they stepped out into the smoking room. There, they found Bleu smoking up a cloud. He was pouting so profusely that Maurizio wanted to topple over in laughter. It was so hilarious and felt so good to make Bleu feel this upset that he had to smile.

“If we hurry now, we can reach the closet spaces before anybody thinks to check,” the other broke his thoughts.

Bleu rose from the chair he was seated in and tapped his cigarette out in the ash tray next to him. He reached into his jacket to find that he was all out of cigarettes. Maurizio almost reached for his own to give him one, but refrained from the old habit. It was nice to leave him wanting, to torture him just a little.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Antoine glanced over at Maxwell and Dooley, who were eyeing him as he approached. He rolled his eyes as he slid into the backseat. He did not feel like talking, but he could already tell that they had questions. Perhaps Miss Pauling would answer most of them though.

She sat down in the seat opposite of him, “I can’t believe that went so well!”

“So we have more man power?” the Maxwell asked.

“You _could_ say that,” Miss Pauling said with a smile.

“You _would_ say that,” Antoine corrected, “They will be joining us at the rendezvous.”

“Right,” Miss Pauling lost her smile.

“Well? All of them are gonna help, right?” Dooley asked.

“Yea…well, they need somebody to make sure nothing goes wrong. So one man per base. That still gives us sixteen!” she said, a bit excitedly.

“That depends on which they picked to stay behind,” Maxwell said, a bit sternly.

“Well, we have too many Spies,” Miss Pauling explained, before quickly turning to Antoine, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“So, they agreed that having a Spy looking after things was probably best,” she explained.

“And what if Mann Co sends somebody to round them up but only finds these Spies alone?” Maxwell asked.

“Seems a bit unfair to them Spies if you asked me,” Dooley seemed to be chuckling.

“Right,” a look of regret hit Miss Pauling’s face.

“They’re the ones who decided on that,” Antoine assured her, “We would include the Spies, but the teams insisted upon leaving somebody behind. So, we let them.”

“And when we’re all done?” Maxwell asked, “Where are all of these mercenaries supposed to go? Back to their bases? Do they really think they can go back to their bases?”

There was a long silence. It was an awkward silence, in which nobody had a real answer for Maxwell’s question. Nobody was really planning for where the mercenaries were supposed to stay. Their money was going to run out sooner or later so they could not all stay at a motel. Besides, Miss Pauling’s mind was probably focused on the oncoming war, Antoine was sure…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently set back by an onslaught of viral influenza, but I got this chapter out. Yay!


	28. Old Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew, Hugh and Drake get to visit with the baby!  
> Maurizio and Bleu try to make a mistake and have a run in with a terrifying figure.

Andrew’s smile was so big when he saw that little girl. He simply could not stop smiling. Sure, he was polite and greeted both Glen and Melisa, but that little kid just sort of sucked in his attention. When she became aware of their presence, her big brown and green eyes turned to them.

He crouched down to her level as she waddled towards him. He smiled as she cooed, coming to his hands. Her tiny hands took his fingers, shaking his hands as she tried to puzzle out what they were for.

“She’s so cute!” Scout crouched next to him, reaching over to take one of the infant’s little hands.

Her curiosity turned to the new man, moving towards him without releasing Andrew’s other hand. She pulled his hand along as she toddled a little closer to Scout, gripping his spindly finger as well. She turned her great big eyes up to Scout’s face, blinking at him with wonder in her eyes.

“So cute!” Scout’s voice rose in pitch.

“You two are going to lose your tacos if you don’t eat soon,” Hugh interrupted their little pow wow with the little one.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Melisa chuckled, “You should eat your food.”

“Right,” Scout pulled his finger from the infant’s grasp and headed to the kitchen.

Andrew reached out with his other hand as the little girl got frustrated at the finger being pulled away from her hand. She took one of his fingers into her hand, staring at his hands like they were amazing foreign objects. She shook his hands, bouncing excitedly.

“Andrew,” Hugh approached from behind.

He turned his head to look up at the other. Hugh was giving him a questioning look, waiting for him to stand up. He clicked his tongue as he turned his attention back to Esperanza.

“I know she’s cute,” Hugh said, “But you need to eat your tacos or I’m afraid Scout is going to devour them all.”

Andrew pouted, giving Esperanza’s hands gentle little squeezes. She was just so cute that she wanted to hold his fingers. He gave into the urge to squeeze her and scooped her up as he rose to his full height.

“Andrew!” Hugh exclaimed in protest.

Andrew chuckled smiling at the little one year old, “She’s too precious.”

“Isn’t she?” Melisa snuck up around him to take her from his arms.

Andrew frowned and reluctantly gave her up to her mother. He felt a little disappointed, but the feeling lasted momentarily as Hugh filled his hands with tacos. He offered his love a small smile, however feeble.

“You should fill your stomach,” Hugh said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“You look like a big alien man,” Melisa said, in a baby voice as she bounced her baby, “Hiding under that helmet.”

“Oh,” Andrew had not even thought about his helmet. He had been so focused on the little girl that he had forgotten that he was wearing his helmet. To most people, it made him look like the real Soldier he was, but to a little one year old child, it made him look foreign. He was just glad that she did not find him scary.

“Come on,” Hugh directed him towards the dining room, “We have to leave soon anyways.”

Andrew walked into the dining room, where Scout was stuffing his mouth full of a burrito. Sniper was glaring at him, like he had just said something very very stupid, which was highly likely, given the Scout’s history.

“If we get there by sunrise, we’ll likely have to head straight to that base,” Hugh said as he followed Andrew in.

“Do you think the others are already finished recruiting?” Scout asked, muffled around the mouthful of food.

“Possibly,” Hugh shrugged.

“Are you going to be alright on the road, mate?” the Sniper asked, with a look of concern, “You just drove all the way here. You’re not going to have a struggle with driving back?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hugh assured him.

“You’re sure?” Sniper asked, with concern still written on his face.

“I could give you a break if you need, Spy,” Scout offered.

“That’s alright,” Hugh raised a hand a bit defensively.

Andrew started feeling bad. He felt like he should offer to drive for them. Hugh _did_ drive them all the way here, and given the hour, he was going to get tired soon. He was sure he would probably get the same reaction from him as the Scout had.

“Just be sure you don’t fall asleep behind the wheel,” the Sniper said, “I don’t want to not find out that you crashed your damn car because you were tired and too stubborn to put Scout behind the wheel.”

“Whoa…wait a sec…it might be best if I _did_ drive,” Scout said, slightly alarmed by Sniper’s scenario.

 

When the time finally came to leave, Andrew was the last out the door. He wanted a moment more to say goodbye to Melisa and the baby. But, as he made his way out, he became reminded that Hugh would be driving again.

Hugh stopped up to talk with the Sniper. The two of them were exchanging final farewells between good friends, and Scout did not seem to be aware of this. He was hovering around and reminding Hugh that they needed to get going.

Andrew walked over to slip the keys from Hugh’s fingers. He spared Andrew a glance, but did not pay much mind to what he was doing with the keys. He took the keys to the car, climbing into the driver’s seat to start up the heater and get himself situated. He needed to be ready to put up a proper protest for when Hugh came to get in the driver’s seat.

He relaxed in the driver’s seat until Hugh came over to knock on the window. He looked out the window, remembering why he locked the door. He shook his head, motioning to the passenger seat with his thumb.

Hugh was talking loudly through the window pane for quite a while, before he walked around the car and climbed into the passenger seat. He shot Andrew a warning glare, like he was irritated that his seat was taken. Andrew gave him a pointed look in response.

“Okay, if you guys are done having a marital spat, can we get going?” Scout interrupted.

“We are not a married couple,” Hugh turned in his seat to glare at the Scout.

“Yea, well you act like it,” Scout teased.

“We do?” Andrew asked. He never thought that his interactions with Hugh made them seem like a married couple.

“No we don’t,” Hugh argued.

Andrew chuckled at how quick Hugh was to protest. He kind of wanted to tease him, “I mean, we kind of do.”

“No we don’t,” Hugh said, sternly.

“Gaaaaaaaaay,” Scout flopped back in his seat in the back.

Andrew frowned, “You got a problem with that, son?”

“It’s kind of weird,” Scout put in, “Just saying.”

“You’ve been aware of our relationship the entire time,” Hugh grumbled, a bit irritably, “Stop acting like it is some new thing.”

“I mean…I don’t know. You guys are happy and shit…but it’s just weird when you remind me,” Scout argued, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

“ _Nobody_ is reminding you of _anything_!” Hugh exclaimed.

“Alright! Alright! Calm down, Spy!” Scout exclaimed, “I mean, it’s not like I’m saying you guys are bad or anything. You just kind of…act like an old married couple in front of people.”

Andrew was chewing on his lip when he looked over at Hugh. He seemed like he was getting a bit red. Scout never was very good at staying off of Spy’s nerves. It seemed that he had once again pissed Hugh off.

“Come on,” Andrew urged, insistently, “We’d make a _great_ couple.”

He reached over to nudge Hugh. Out of the corner of his eye, it looked like he was frowning though. That was rarely a good sign.

“Don’t know why you’re getting so defensive about this,” Scout said, with a touch of frustration, “I am just saying you guys are like…you click. Like it’s obvious that you are together.”

Andrew could see frustration building in the man in the passenger seat. He frowned at the road ahead of him, feeling like he was s in an odd position. Hugh was rarely ever this frustrated with him, and never in a way that frustrated Andrew. Scout was saying something sweet about them, disproportionately forgiving of something that they all had grown up to think of in a bad way. Andrew himself was rather flattered by what Scout was saying, so it should not be such a problem for Hugh to understand that the young man was simply complementing them.

In fact, Andrew was just about thrilled at this. They were behaving like an old married couple? That was sweet in a sense. Part of him had always imagined that things had to be different, his life had to go a much different way for him to have this kind of happiness, and that kind of commitment from somebody.

He decided to let the topic go instead. He would diffuse the frustration building up between the Spy and the Scout by turning on some music. The first thing that came on was something of the country assortment. He knew Hugh did not like that color of music, and Scout was verbal about how disgusted he was with it, so he quickly changed to something else.

It was **different** to say the least. The sounds in the first song came from no instruments that Andrew knew of. Not to mention the strange way that the voices sounded. It was like they were singing in a metal room, locked away like prisoners to sing for eternity.

The sound was weird and different, but it got his passengers to be quiet. Both men went silent, quietly listening to the strange noise that garbled the words and made Andrew wonder what else he has missed in the real world. He had only been around the real world, outside of Mann Co’s bases and away from their cameras, for a year. There was no telling how much he had missed over the years.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio followed the other Spy in silence. He kept losing himself in thought though, growing fond of creative nicknames for this younger man. Born in the early seventies and recruited in the late nineties of the twentieth century, the young man had a lot of youth on Maurizio, both relatively and literally. Recruited in his twenties, he still looked like he was straight out of college, even being middle aged.

He knew how the man looked from the time spent in bed together though, not really from looking at him here. But, as he looked at him, his mind kept getting lost on ways he could complement the man’s hidden appearance. Surely he had to know he was a good looking man.

A sudden hand landing on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to see Bleu, looking at him worriedly. There was something like panic in those eyes. He wanted to tell him off, but decided to be quiet instead.

“Are you sure that we can trust this man?” Bleu whispered, “We don’t know of his real intentions.”

“I trust him,” Maurizio whispered, shrugging off Bleu’s hand, “I’ve tempered my standards to a higher level, thank you very much.” He hoped that stung, and turned his attention to the man leading them, picking up his pace to try and put just a little distance between himself and Bleu.

“It’s this way,” the man leading them said, as he turned a corner.

“How do we know this is not the way towards death?” Bleu growled, loud enough for their host to hear him.

Maurizio shot a glare over his shoulder. He wanted to tell him to shut the hell up. Maybe even turn around and deck him in the face. He wanted to make him feel all sorts of hurt, if only just to gleefully laugh about it while he complained of his broken nose.

“I’m not trying to-” the man cut off as a figure appeared in the hallway ahead of them.

At first, Maurizio did not recognize him. His mind went straight to identifying the man as a BLU Soldier. He had known quite a few BLU Soldiers in his time, and most of them were quite pleasant. His recent friend, as an example, was dear to his heart, and he would be happy to see him. As the man drew away from the light beaming behind him, he remembered that this was the resident Soldier.

Horror struck him and a sense of panic made him run. He was not sure where he was going or what he was doing yet, he just knew that he had to get away. Of all people, he would not be left alone with the Soldier again. He could hear shouting and maybe a set of footsteps running aside from his own, but he did not look back. He did not even check to make sure that he was going the right way.

Seeing properly became something unnecessary, as his feet carried him forward. His mind just released all predisposition to discuss and manipulate the situation. He did not even think that would work in such a situation. How would he ever approach such a man again?

 

When he stopped, he found that he was outside and in the cold. He sat down, needing to breathe for a bit. His panic left him shaky and tired, growing weary from the frustrating situation. His mind all but forgot why he had been running, becoming focused on breathing steadily.

“Maurizio,” that soft voice was once a comfort, and the instinct took over as he reached out to grab for the other man. He drew him close, holding onto him like a child clinging to a favorite stuffed toy.

He closed his eyes, feeling like the world was suddenly against him. Like his mind could no longer think. Feeling as though the world as he had perceived it had all but changed for the worse.

“You panicked,” Bleu spoke softly, one arm wrapped around him and the other laid upon his head for comfort.

“I-I panicked,” he stammered. That was all he could manage, a simple parroting with the alteration of whom he was talking about.

“You’re going to be okay,” Bleu said softly.

Slowly, exhaustion settled into his bones and he switched to Italian, “I freaked out. I saw him and I panicked. I can’t go toe to toe with the Soldier.”

He heard voices getting closer, along with running feet, sounding like two men were racing towards them. Maurizio did not look up though, choosing instead to pretend everything would just be okay if he accepted fate again. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Bleu that was starting to imprint on his own jacket.

“You’re going to be fine,” Bleu insisted, “You’re going to disappear.”

He opened his eyes to see Bleu digging into the jacket he was wearing. His hand came out with two items, an invisibility watch and a dead ringer. He discarded the dead ringer for the time being, gently wrapping the invis watch around Maurizio’s wrist.

Staring in disbelief and exhaustion, he let it happen. He looked up in time to see Bleu’s face come to his, pressing a kiss to his forehead, before he pressed the button on the watch. The familiar sound of the cloaking device’s invisibility manipulation rang in his ears and adrenaline began pumping again.

His body fought with the new adrenaline, nowhere near energetic enough to do anything with it. Still, it reminded him, somewhere in the back of his mind, that danger was coming and it was time to act. And act he did, moving towards the shadows where he would be better hidden when his cloak wore out.

His attention was caught by gunshots. One was a shotgun, sending off a loud crack that disturbed the birds that otherwise would be settled into their nests for the night. The other was a pistol, with repeated defensive shots. He did not see who fired.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu did not know **exactly** what he was doing, but he had a pretty good idea. He knew Maurizio would act on instinct, being tired and already working on a fight or flight instinct as per usual. Seeing him react to the Soldier was telling of something. He did not know what it was, but it was something. Ironic, given the man had inflicted severe pain and misery onto him some time ago, torturing him for information in a way that both of them found unspeakable, but Maurizio refused to admit to regret.

Still, when he saw that reaction and followed, he could not gloat. His jealousy and anger did not take over. He did not remember all the frustration that he had with Maurizio. He only remembered one thing, the reason why he was here in the first place.

The kiss had been an afterthought, a decision in the midst of life or death to remind Maurizio that there was good in the world. Suddenly so vulnerable, Bleu felt it must have been luck that he had been there to comfort him, as perhaps in this situation he would have grabbed the resident Spy, had he been close enough to hold like a teddy bear.

But the thunder that he feared – or rather the Soldier – was a real threat to both of them, and only one of them could wear the invis watch. Not that they had entirely failed to check him for weapons and tools, but they had overlooked a few pockets that had been designed specifically for this situation. And given they did not have a metal detector, none of the resident mercenaries had realized that he was still carrying things, they were just not in easy grasp, given the pockets’ sewn nature.

After sending Maurizio on his way, he turned to face the incomers. One was a Spy, looking rather flustered after his sudden spat with the Soldier. The other was the Soldier, who was brandishing his shotgun and looking rather furious. He had this weird look on his face too, even with part of his face hidden by a large helmet.

Quick assessment reminded him that the Soldier thought he was Maurizio, given his red garb. He could not protest, as that was not something a Soldier like this would listen about. _’Don’t shoot. I’m a BLU,’_ is what he would say. But, there was not time – nor space within that thick skull that probably had a lot to do with Maurizio’s sudden fear – to explain who he was.

“Soldier! Put that gun down!” the resident Spy barked, reaching over for the shotgun.

Bleu backed away slowly, ready to run at the right moment. His hand brandished a cold metal object, ready to open it and activate its properties at a moment’s notice. At the moment though, he did not want them to know that he had it. If they knew, it would take away half of its usefulness – making them think he was dead, while surviving to run away.

“Get your commie hands away from my gun!” the Soldier barked at him, “I don’t deal in socialist bargains!”

“I am not a commie!” the Spy spat, angrily.

“And that’s not a hippie!” the Soldier pointed at Bleu, as if that would make his point.

The resident Spy moved closer, immediately grabbing the barrel of the gun to point it upwards. There was a struggle that showed that while the Spy knew how to fight, he had nothing on the brute strength in the Soldier’s arms. By comparison, the resident Spy was like a gymnast, probably trained in martial arts, while the Soldier was a weight lifter who was used to carrying about half his weight or more on the battlefield.

“Don’t shoot!” Bleu urged, pressing his thumb to the button to activate the dead ringer.

“I’m trying to disarm him!” the Spy barked, “You could help!”

“I could, with a death wish,” Bleu noted.

“Wait…where’s-” in that moment of the Spy’s confusion, looking around for Maurizio, his guard was down. The Soldier yanked the gun, and then kicked his teammate in the gut. Thrown back, the Spy released the weapon, which allowed the Soldier to turn and shoot.

Bleu was ready, and activated the dead ringer as he saw the Spy get kicked back. He took a deep breath as the shot came his way. The pain was painful, and he took just a couple steps back as he let it fade to what seemed like a reasonable death time.

“You _imbecile_!” the resident Spy declared, immediately drawing his pistol and letting off several shots in the Soldier’s head.

The Spy groaned with what seemed like regret, pinching the bridge of his nose with his unarmed hand, “He’s not going to trust me after this…whatever the hell this was.”

Bleu turned his attention away from the resident Spy, rushing off to find Maurizio. Now he wished he had some sort of tracking device in his suit. That would have made it easier to find the blue clad Spy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I am bouncing between the two possibilities with Bleu and Maurizio, but it's not about how it's going to end. All of that is about how they used to be. Moving on from that is not so easy.


	29. When the Morning Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole bunch of stuff happens, but everybody is trying to get ready for dawn.

Morning could not come fast enough. The cold mixed with the dark shadows that lingered, made Maurizio feel uneasy and especially cold. Strolling through the darkness of a forest, he felt out of place, and partially like he was in a horror story.

Everything here belonged in a horror story. The trees with their looming shadows. The dark crevices that peaked at him like faces with holes for eyes. And especially animals, whose cries and noises mixed to seem like the type of sounds that are _meant_ to warn you of danger coming, but ignored for their lack of linguistic meaning.

Somewhere behind him was the base, and with it, its Soldier. Already stricken with fright, he could not imagine how he would feel about the Soldier following him into the forest. The wary unease that he just might have come out here to track him down, made him tremble more than the shivers already made him.

He tried to keep his head up, to keep looking forward. Every step was frightening though. The crinkling of leaves and the crackling of twigs, reminded him of how silent the world out here was. There were plenty of animals making noises, but it was too different from what he was used to. There were none of the loud voices or mechanical sounds he was used to, let alone the crack of a gunshot.

If anything of that volume came out of the air, Maurizio would have screamed. He was sure that he would not be able to handle it, due almost solely to the volume of the animals around him. Part of him wanted those birds to shut up and stop making noises that would bother him, but the other part of him wanted them to get louder, to create a white noise too loud for anybody to hear him through.

When the eventuality of a slightly louder noise came, he jumped and yelped. He looked around, hands held up defensively in a ready stance to change the playing field if there was an armed opponent. After a couple minutes of looking around, he realized that his foot had broken a small branch underfoot, a rather dry and crackly branch that had snapped clean in half from his weight pressed on it.

He took a few breaths, trying to calm himself down. He felt ridiculous, childish even. First he was fleeing from men with vendettas, and now he was jumping at noises in the forest. What was next? Screaming at Bleu?

He looked around warily, as if expecting Bleu to appear the moment he was thought about. Finding that nobody was around, Maurizio continued on his way. His tired feet were dragging though, lollygagging his way in the direction opposite of the BLU base he had left.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Bleu followed the path he thought Maurizio had taken, moving back around the base. A quick glance around showed that there were a couple of old trucks parked out here, just waiting to be taken for a drive. A rush of excitement hit him as he ran to the trucks.

The thought hit him that Maurizio probably had not taken one of these. A truck would have brought on attention, and there had been no trucks to leave the vicinity of the base. So, Maurizio was likely still around the base itself, but this was no time to turn up an opportunity for escape.

He ducked between the trucks as he heard footsteps. The jagged patterns told him that they were not the resident Spy. He would have guessed at the Soldier, if ten minutes had already passed. He peered around the front tire of a truck, to see the Demoman and the Engineer walking brusquely around the outside.

“That idiot is going to get himself into so much trouble!” the Engineer was purely livid.

“Now calm down, mate,” the Demo insisted, “Don’t go blowing up at him. He doesn’t respond well to that.”

“D-dammit! I need to blow up at something!” the Engineer said, taking off his helmet to slam it on the ground. The two men paused for a moment, as the Engineer snatched the helmet back up, brushed it off and set it back on his head.

They resumed walking in silence, making their way towards the source of the gunshots from before. They had probably been privy to the scene via the cameras. They were probably already aware about the Spy that got away, but he wondered if they had already become aware that the other one’s body was a dummy that disappeared.

He waited, cautiously watching as the two mercenaries disappeared from sight. He was still careful, as he crept to one of the vehicles’ doors. Just because they had disappeared from sight, did not mean they had disappeared from hearing distance.

He was careful about the door, settling himself behind the steering of the car. He smiled to himself as he started looking around. There were usually places people kept keys for a vehicle like this. Then again, maybe they were kept inside the base, probably in a garage where the Engineer would have easy access to them.

He did not bother with expletives though, as he moved down under the steering column. He was not sure if anybody still used the technique anymore, but hotwiring was relatively simple. It brought back a flood of memories, back in France, of cars he targeted and how he would be in such a rush to get out of trouble. That sensation of being in danger, of getting into a ton of trouble, had always been a thrill to him. Being as the cards had changed and he worked around mercenaries, the sense of panic really did not feel good anymore.

The rush of adrenaline felt much worse when the truck did not start up, instead refusing to turn over. He shifted to put a hand on the gas pedal, pumping it rhythmically as he tried to get the vehicle to start. The truck continued to refuse, flooding the engine instead.

He stopped, realizing that he was not getting anywhere. This vehicle probably needed repairs and would not start up like this. Not only that, but the noise was plenty loud enough to alert the resident mercenaries of his position, all the way from where he had dead ringered. They would come running for him, so he slammed the door shut and booked it, rushing around the other end of the base to get safely away from them. He aimed for the forest trees, hoping that they might provide safe hiding.

He was surprised when he did hear voices. He should have been far enough away that it would be difficult to hear them shouting and trying to figure out where he had gone. Still, he kept running, rushing to get away from their voices and hopefully to reevaluate what was going on here.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Glen sighed as he sank back onto the couch. Things felt weird. They were different, but they should not have felt so weird. They were so off, too different from what they were supposed to be.

Knowing his old teammates were driving away without him felt unsettling. Namely, something in the back of his mind told him he should have been in that car, in the back seat next to scout, prepping his favorite rifle for the oncoming fight. They were going off to that fight without him.

“Are you going to mope like that?” Melisa asked.

“No,” he frowned, “I’m not moping! Why would I be moping?”

Melisa glanced between him and Esperanza, “You don’t get to see him often enough. Was nice to see him, but I wish he would be around more.”

“I’m going to assume you’re talking about Spy, but why the hell would I be moping about him?” he asked, defensively.

“Come _on_ , Glen! I’m not that dense!” she declared, “You’ve missed having him around. Hell, you don’t even get along with anybody in your new team! I mean, I don’t blame you. They’re kinda assholes. But, especially since you knew him for so long, _that Spy_ should be in your life more!”

“I’m not going to argue about it,” he insisted, raising his hands defensively.

“Glen! I’m trying to get you outta your shell here! And you’re moping!” she told him sternly.

“No I’m not,” he argued, shaking her head.

“Okay, fine! Say I believe you,” she said, with a pause, “What are you going to do?”

“I was planning on talking to Esperanza, tell her how light works,” he said, half jesting. He did want to teach his baby though, so he would obviously talk about _something_ useful.

“Yea but…what are you going to do then?” she asked.

“Probably going to have to pack up and head back to base,” he told her.

“And then?” she pressed further.

He frowned at her, “Melisa, where is this going?”

“Where it’s going is…you’ve been rather…complacent…lately,” she said, with a sad tone in her voice. He never liked the sad tones in her voice.

“So?” he pressed, “Maybe it’s best that I be complacent. Maybe it’s best that I’m settled down. Maybe it’s best, cause you know…the damn threats from Mann Co!”

She rolled her eyes at him, “So, that’s it? That’s life?”

“Yea, I guess so,” he replied, with a nod.

“Glen, I’m not your average woman,” she sighed with frustration, “It eats me up inside. I wanna approve of what you’re doing. I want so badly to just fall to the wayside and ignore that there’s a problem. But, I know you too well, and if you stay where you are, you’re bound to get root rot, and this being a family is only going to create more problems for our baby. As much as I want you here, I know you wanna be out there.”

“It’s not safe,” he shook his head, “What they’re doing is off of respawn.”

She seemed to bristle, with a look of panic on her face. She was fighting with her every instinct though, taking a breath to calm herself. He watched her, curious and in awe of her behavior. She always was a strange one that he could never figure out in every way. That was what he loved about her, how strange she was, and how she made the world seem like an adventure, if only you could invert its circumstances.

“Since having the child, we’ve had to make sacrifices,” she admitted.

“That is what having a child basically means,” he nodded in agreement.

“But, there is self-sacrifice and there is self-martyrdom,” she said, with a sternness in her tone.

“Whatever does that mean?” he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“It means…you aren’t like other men. You’re a mercenary,” she stated, “You’re a quick thinker, resourceful and cunning. As much as I would like to believe you this stay at home daddy…and believe me, you’ve been a wonderful father to Esperanza when you can be here…but this isn’t you. You’ve been getting restless and it has shown.”

“It’s not like I don’t do the work I always have,” he argued, “I go to work, do my sniping and fighting there. Then I come back to you and Esperanza. A great balance, if you asked me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” she argued, “And I don’t know why for sure…but…it’s…it’s not enough balance.”

He looked at her more closely and frowned. She was fighting back tears, trying so hard not to cry. The fighting was only making her voice break more, cracking under the pressure of what she wanted to say.

“Aw Mel, please don’t cry,” he pleaded. He did not like seeing her upset like this.

“Are you really going to sit there and act like you don’t wanna go join your old pals?” she asked him sternly.

“Mel, I wanna stay here,” he argued, stubbornly.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears. He could hear her sniffling though, so he got to his feet and approached her. He gently took her elbows and drew her into a hug. She did not fight with him, choosing to wrap her arms right around him and bury her face against his shirt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” she admitted, partially muffled against his shirt, “I watched the recent recordings. I get caught up in everything that’s happening. But when I really pay attention, you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“It’s work,” he shrugged, wrapping his arms around her, “Why would I be having any fun?”

“You used to,” she argued, “You used to enjoy what you do. Sure, there were times you hated it. And there were even times you would rant about all the reasons you wanted to leave.”

“Everybody does,” he chuckled, “It’s called work for a reason. You gotta work.”

“And it isn’t the same you had when you were working with Andrew and…and…Spy? I don’t have a name for him,” she sighed and leaned against him, “I just want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy,” he smiled down at the top of her head, “Don’t you see that, Mel?”

“I see that,” she said, with a doubtful tone of voice.

“But?” he pressed.

“But…not as happy as you could be,” she looked up at him, “I’m not going to make you do anything. I’m not my mother. But, I am certainly not going to stop you if you follow through with something that is going to make you happy.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mel,” he scrunched his brow with concern. This was the first time she had brought up her mother in a long time.

“I mean…do what makes you happy!” she blurted.

 

Glen spent about an hour thinking on what Melisa had said. The baby had already been tucked into bed and Melisa was watching something on a tiny television in the kitchen while she snacked on chips. He was just playing the animal documentaries he had already watched a few times before.

Distantly, he could hear the loud crash and bang of what was an explosion, its sound decreased to the size of the small television. Following it was the recorded voice of a Soldier shouting about how proud he was to be an American. The man’s mouth ran off in a rant, while muffled other voices came to the focus.

As was the arrangement, Glen never wanted to see those shows. Melisa still liked watching them, but he did not want to be around them, so she watched them in another room. Usually the documentary would be drowning out those noises, but somehow the documentary had become white noise.

He could not tell what they were saying, but something in those voices felt so familiar to him. It seemed so familiar to him. He could not shake the feeling that he might have been in the episode that she was watching at the moment.

He got to his feet and strode into the kitchen. Melisa jumped, alarmed that he was in the room, and tried to shut off the monitor to spare him the triggering noises. He put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her attention around to him. She looked up at him, almost as if bewildered. She probably thought he was in there to grab a glass of water.

“Melisa? I’m uh…” the monitor almost got his attention, drawing him in to the explosions and boisterous laughter of the Demo and Soldier on screen. “I’m going to go meet up with H- with Spy and them. Okay?” he said, feeling rather remorseful.

She gave him a supportive smile, “Alright. D-do you need anything before you go?”

“I uh…should probably pack a lunch. I’m not necessarily going to a prepped base,” he explained.

She nodded, “I’ll make you sandwiches. Go upstairs and get your things.”

He nodded in agreement, parting with a sweet kiss. He was wondering if this was the right choice to make though. She had given him room to make this choice, but would she regret it in ten years?

 

*********************************************************************

 

Morning would have gone awry if they had not planned everything out, step by step. All the way down to the coffee grinds to use for breakfast, everything had been specifically drawn out. The skeptical Medic was frustrated with their _‘over planning’_ as it took up so much of their time. But Dooley did not see the man complaining now, as he tiredly dragged himself from bed and poured himself a mug of coffee.

Dooley chuckled as he dressed, getting ready for the day. Now he had a uniform to wear, something that felt more proper to the situation of a mercenary like him. It was not anything he used to wear, but it was just like them. The familiarity made him feel like he had just been transformed from a civilian back into a killer mercenary again.

The other man was slowly getting dressed and ready. There was a slow tediousness to his preparation rituals, but Dooley had long since learned to leave him alone. The man was slow, but he was particular about how he set himself up for the day.

It was easy enough to find interesting things about the doctor adorable. The way his bedhead remained untouched throughout his ritual until the very end when he transformed it from a ragged mess into a perfect look. How many different faces he could make while he was struggling with his tie, brushing his teeth, or trying to get his shoes on. Or even how he hummed or whistled old tunes from his youth, mostly songs that Dooley was familiar with because of his grandpappy, tunes almost dead when he was a kid.

In the year they had spent on the run together, of course he had formed a crush on the man. But that had only lasted a few months. Maybe from about month three to about month six. At some point, that silly feeling had worn off as he realized just how frustrating it was to deal with a tediously slow man, when he himself was used to doing complicated things in a quick and orderly manner that only _seemed_ chaotic. He especially did not like how much the man scrutinized him for seeming so chaotic and all over the place, from the way he handled a piece of equipment, to the way he drew blueprints, down to the way he spoke and thought.

He never got around to voicing his feelings, and the other did not seem to have any mutual crush either. He figured they were destined to be pals, the type that nagged on each other like old women about how they were still making the same old mistakes. He rather liked it anyways, it was better than being alone. Anything was better than being alone.

“Do you think Miss Pauling’s alarm clock went off?” Maxwell interrupted his thoughts.

He paused, choosing to remain silent for about forty seconds to tie his shoes. He raised his head to look at the other man, who did not look quite as concerned about Miss Pauling as he did about the buttons on his waistcoat. Not an unusual behavioral pattern for Maxwell though.

“She’s probably got it covered,” he rose from his seat on the edge of the bed, “I can go check on her if it worries ya.”

“No, you’re probably right,” the Medic finally got to the mess of hair that had been thrown to disorder during his sleep, “

Dooley nodded and headed outside anyways. A quick glance told him that Miss Pauling was already double checking the supplies they had loaded into the trucks the night before.

“Oh! Hello, Engie!” she smiled at him pleasantly.

He smiled back at her, “Hello, Miss Pauling!”

“The coffee grinds go over well?” she asked, with a mischievous grin.

He chuckled, “Yea. Improved his attitude for this morning. He’ll be chipper once it’s fully set in. I’d keep some brew lying around if I were you.”

“I’ll keep that in my memos,” she chortled, as she took note of how much ammo they had for sentry guns.

He looked around, noting the emptiness of the motel lot this morning. Some of the other tenants had already left, taking their vehicles with them. But, even at this bright hour, there were supposed to be certain mercenaries around. There should have been a bouncing BLU Scout. There should have been a BLU Spy slinking around, adding to all the slinking that the RED Spy seemed to be sneakily doing. And especially, there should have been a loud and boastful Soldier around.

“Miss Pauling, you ain’t heard nothing from them other three, have you?” he asked, hoping not to be too specific. As aware as she may have been of his crush, he did not want to tip her thoughts towards believing that he still had a stiff attachment to the BLU Soldier.

To be honest, when he really thought about it, his heart still beat like a love drum for that man. Looking at him set his stomach aflutter with butterflies. Talking to him made him feel happy and at ease.

But, claimed by the BLU Spy, Soldier would not see him that way. He had to be _just friends_ with him and that was okay. But, if that Spy got a whiff of something off, he would likely turn everybody on the Engineer, especially the Soldier. It was bad enough the Soldier was still a little wary around him, never fully letting his guard down like he used to.

Being _just friends_ was difficult. After everything they had been through, and what Dooley had done, things were never the same. True, the Soldier seemed to have forgiven him, and gave him quite a bit of trust shortly after everything, there was that lingering sensation that he still held onto his Spy’s jacket sleeves, when it came to being wary.

“Sorry, but I haven’t,” she frowned, “They should have had a radio, but they don’t seem to have turned it on.”

“Oh, maybe they just don’t remember how to use it,” he jested, playfully, “Old men and new tricks, ya know?”

She nodded with a smile, “I just hope they did not hit any trouble.”

“I am sure that they are fine,” he said, hoping to assure him, while simultaneously assuring himself. He decided to turn his attention away from that and make himself useful by helping her count how much they had.

He should have been guarding his thoughts a bit more, because when a car rolled in, he immediately became excited and looked over in hopes of seeing the Soldier. He frowned when he saw it was not the trio that went to some other BLU base, but rather the group from the base they had visited the day before. They were here to meet with them, bringing their men and as much artillery as they could fit in the backs of their trucks.

Dooley shrugged off the disappointment, and tried to double down on what he was doing. It did not help when yet another set of vehicles pulled in, revealing that both the RED and BLU teams were up and ready to fight with Miss Pauling. How she had managed to convince them _both_ to work with her without specified pay was beyond him.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Hugh jolted awake with surprise. He had not intended to fall asleep, yet he had managed to doze off for a while. He looked at the clock on the radio, finding that he had been asleep for over an hour.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Andrew chuckled playfully. The poor man had been trying to keep up a playful tone, and an eager attitude.

“How long have we been driving?” he groaned, rubbing his back. No doubt Andrew’s back would be killing him soon.

“We’re almost there, actually,” Andrew said, with a proud smile.

A snore caught his attention, and he turned to see the Scout passed out in the backseat. He should have expected that, since the man had been asleep for hours and hours. He must have slept the entire drive through.

“Scout’s still sound asleep,” he noted aloud.

“Ah good,” Andrew nodded, “I wanted to talk about something, before he wakes up.”

“What’s that?” he turned to Andrew, leaning an arm on the back of his seat.

“Well…you remember earlier when Scout was talking about us being a couple?” Andrew asked, his tone changing to nervousness.

Hugh turned himself to face straightforward. He felt his face heat up as he looked away. Being conflicted between emotions and reasoning was never easy, but was something he was well versed in handling.

“You got very defensive,” Andrew explained, “Why is that?”

Hugh took a breath, “I…you know I love you very much.”

“But, why is that?” Andrew pressed, “Why were you so defensive with Scout calling us a couple?”

“It’s…I love you,” Hugh said, hoping to distract Andrew with the emotional attachment within the topic.

“I know that, but…why were you so defensive about _us_?” Andrew pressed, with concern in his voice.

“It wasn’t about _us_ , it was about what Scout was saying,” Hugh insisted.

“Yea, but that was about _us_ ,” Andrew insisted.

“No you don’t understand…it’s the context,” Hugh insisted. He hoped that he could push Andrew out of talking about this particular topic.

“Where am I?” the sudden groan of the Scout waking up startled them both and shut them up, “Aw man. Are we even there yet?”

“We’re…we’re close,” Andrew shot Hugh a sideways glance as he turned onto another street.

 

There was silence in the car, for several more minutes, before they pulled into the familiar parking lot of the motel. Andrew parked and they all filed out of the vehicle. Hugh immediately stretched, enjoying the ability to stretch his legs and move about more freely.

He was stretching his back and trying to limber up, when he heard Scout speak, “So, what are we going to tell Miss Pauling and the others?”

“What do you mean?” Hugh asked, momentarily lost on what he was talking about. The younger man meant the fact that they had returned with no recruits.

“What? Are we gonna just tell ‘em that we went all the way there, wasted a bunch of gas and stuff, just to say hi to an old pal and come back?” Scout asked, a bit sarcastically.

Hugh opened his mouth but immediately shut it. He would have to tell Miss Pauling that he was unsuccessful. No doubt she would be disappointed in this, but he was not sure about the implications. He might have to silence Andrew and Scout, before they said something about their visit that they should not tell to her.

To his dismay, it seemed Miss Pauling was already out and about. There were already other mercenaries there too. Some of them were looking at the newcomers with curiosity. Others were deliberately ignoring them.

Miss Pauling came towards them, doing a quick headcount to note that they were one short of what they had desired. Hugh opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of screeching tired and a bellowing horn caused him to flinch and spin around.

Most everybody’s head turned as the truck barreled into the lot. Scout was taken by surprise and threw himself just out of the way of where the truck decided to stop. It barely stopped moving from momentum when the driver came out, looking rather like he had run a mile, as he ran towards them.

“I-I’m here!” the Sniper exclaimed, raising a hand to wave to the others, “Sorry ‘m late!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it needs to be said that Hugh isn't trying to be harmful or hostile here. He has a whole different motive for why he was so defensive. I am not going to elaborate because he will explain himself eventually...I just don't want a bunch of Spy hate again, cause he's a bit manipulative. it's what he does.


	30. The Morning Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This morning begins with a battle, but some are dealing with battles of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Attempted suicide.  
> Serious warning, as it takes up a large chunk of the chapter. This theme will likely come up again.  
> Tags have also been updated to reflect some of the major situations coming up in the story. (Some already came up and I just did not think about the tags for this site)

What a drive it was just to get here. He had not expected it to take all night. Luckily, leaving less than an hour after the others, he managed to catch up. It helped that the Soldier drove much slower than Spy. It especially helped that his truck had a lot of power in its engine, and a fresh set of tires.

Normally, he would just be comfortable strolling out of the truck and making his way over. Usually he would just be himself, take things at his own pace, so to speak. But there was something riled up in him, a strange excitement that kept him going after his tires had already stopped rolling. He flung himself from the vehicle and hurried to join his old teammates.

“Sniper?” the Spy’s expression was priceless, and in most cases he would have killed to see him so surprised.

He smiled at seeing him so surprised. It was not that he was glad to see him bewildered, but it always seemed like a challenge to get the Spy to give any emotion other than smug, mischievous or sinister. Surprise was one that was far and beyond the Sniper’s abilities, given the Spy’s uncanny ability to fish out all information on what is going on behind his back.

Miss Pauling just had a welcoming smile on her face. She had expected him there, though she had had a certain look of uncertainty, like she had expected him to be in the car with the others. That was probably the intended arrangement, but no way was the Sniper going on some random mission without his own vehicle at his side. Besides, he still needed his morning coffee and he would have to set the water to brew.

“Good to see ya, fellas!” a RED Engineer greeted them with a wave of his hand.

Glen felt like he had met the man before. Having seen so many men down his scope though, it was hard to say for sure whether this one was one he knew personally. Probably not, given that he was a RED. Still, that sensation lingered at the back of his mind.

“Alright, it seems like everyone’s here!” Miss Pauling said, turning to check the faces there.

Glen took in all of the others. About eighteen of them looked like they came from near perfect sets. All that were missing were a BLU Spy and a RED Spy. Given his history with the Frenchman, the one he could see was the man he used to fight, day in and day out. Although, it was not impossible that he had been transferred to that particular RED team. The BLU, on the other hand, would likely not have agreed to coming back to Mann Co to be placed in a team without his own Soldier. He probably had his reasons for being _here_ though.

“Alright! Let’s have a debriefing over the plan. Could somebody go get Medic? I think he was inside getting more coffee,” she motioned to one of the motel room doors and an Engineer toddled off to find him.

There was an awkward silence. An obvious nervousness, with an unsettling sense of frustration, was stirred up between the REDs and the BLUs, at least between most of them. Those teams were probably used to fighting each other, not somebody else. Enemies were never so quick to change their minds about their nemesis.

“So, uh…this is what you’ve been up to?” Glen asked, hoping to make conversation in this awkwardness.

“Only recently,” the BLU Spy admitted, with a dainty gesture of his hand.

Glen nodded, swaying on the balls of his feet, “Glad to see you’re just as much the Spy you were.”

“And you? I thought you were going to stay behind? What about Melisa and Esperanza?” the Spy lowered his voice, to avoid others who might hear them. The Soldier and the Scout could hear them, but they were already privy to that sort of information.

He shrugged, “Talked with Mel. She’ll have to move anyways. Mann Co’s dangerous and she knew that… Thought I’d be fine with falling behind and staying in a line my father couldn’t. Guess I’m more like him than I thought.” He frowned at that thought. That never really occurred to him, his mind was just going and his mouth was rambling on a whim.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Spy nodded to him, “It’ll be nice knowing there is a competent Sniper to watch my back.” 

“I’m not sure if I can say the same,” Glen glanced over at the RED Spy, his old arch nemesis. The man had targeted him for so long in backstabs, that there was a tally carved into the old ceiling of the camper, just over the bed. Melisa had convinced him to refurbish the old thing and fix the ceiling though.

“Don’t worry about him,” the Spy insisted, “He is on our side.”

Glen frowned as he glanced over at the RED Spy. He trusted his pal’s judgment, but there would always be paranoia about his arch nemesis. That was not something somebody could shake so easily – being enemies.

“We have a history,” Glen informed him, almost a bit sternly, “That’s not something you can wipe away.”

“No, you can’t,” the Spy admitted, “But, you can rewrite the future.”

Glen quirked an eyebrow at him, but did not get around to asking him about that. The meeting seemed to have started, as Miss Pauling was addressing everyone. All of the mercenaries were gathered, weapons lowered and eyes set on her, listening intently to every word she had to say.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“Everyone’s waiting,” Dooley entered the motel room, closing the door behind him just in case. He was not sure why, but he always had this feeling when he entered bedroom areas, the kind of feeling that said somebody might be indecent.

He glanced around the room, feeling a bit odd. Something felt off, given the pot was still hot and in its place. A quick scan of the room told him that Maxwell’s used cup was already set on the counter by the sink, waiting to be washed out. That was not quite right, given the man had intended to get some coffee.

He stepped further in the room, keeping up his guard, as he was wary of Spies. The man could have been traded out for a Spy that was trying to report back to headquarters about what Miss Pauling was doing. That thought spiked paranoia, and he grabbed the wrench from his tool belt. He was definitely ready to use it, in case a Spy was already calling in from the bathroom.

In fact, he could see the light in the bathroom, pouring through the crevices. The door was not very well closed though, leaving it slightly open. He crept closer, staying quiet, with the wrench upraised.

Inside, he could hear a voice, muttering words in some foreign language. Likely French, because most Spies were French anyways. He could not make out what they were saying, but he was definitely certain that it was not good.

As his hand touched the door, he heard a grunt and became alarmed. The man might have heard him. He shoved the door open and raised his wrench, ready to pound a man in the head. He was completely certain that there would be some Frenchman trying to cover his tracks by sitting on the toilet like he needed to take a dump.

He was not ready for what he saw. The chair fell aside with a loud crack, and the shower pole strained against the weight. The body’s back was facing him, but it was clear to see what was happening, as the man gagged for air the way only a dying man would.

“Maxwell!” he exclaimed, grabbing the man by the middle and lifting him up. Max’s sudden gasp gave him hope, but he needed an extra hand. “Help! Somebody help!” he called out, “I need gosh darn help!”

Maxwell took several shaky and hoarse breaths before he yelled at him, “What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Dammit! Hold still! You’re too heavy to wiggle,” Dooley ordered, trying to keep the man firmly lifted so he could breathe.

“I want to die! Let me go!” Maxwell demanded, his hands reaching to try and pry Dooley off of him.

“Dammit! What’s gotten into you?!” he exclaimed, lowering his head as the other incidentally peeled his goggles off of his face.

“Please! Just let me go!” Maxwell pleaded, his voice cracking from building tears.

“I can’t do that! You know I can’t,” Dooley informed him. He turned his head and tried to shout out the door, hoping somebody might hear him, “Fellas! Somebody help me out in here!”

“Just release…me!” Maxwell grunted, wriggling his entire body as he tried to get out of Dooley’s grasp.

As soon as he lost a bit of his grip, he quickly regrabbed the Medic, holding on tightly. He refused to give up. “Max! Dammit! What’s gotten into you? What’s going on?” he demanded with frustration.

“Please!” the tears started pouring from his eyes.

“This ain’t the way to deal with problems, son!” Dooley declared, with a painful grunt. This was not getting him anywhere, and his body _was_ starting to tire out.

“I want to go,” Max pleaded.

“I ain’t lettin’ you!” Dooley told him sternly, “You’re needed here partner!”

“So was he!” Max’s voice was almost shrill as he spoke, new tears pouring down his face. He wiggled less, as he became racked with sobs.

“Max, listen, I know we lost a lot of good friends back then. I know things have been tough…but this is our way to make a stand and stop running!” Dooley grunted.

“I want to stop running,” Maxwell sniffled, “B-but…I want to be back with him. I want to go where he is.”

“The hell are you thinking?” the Engineer demanded, “Going and killing yourself ain’t gonna get yourself sent anywhere but hell!”

“If that’s where he is, then that’s where I am going!” Maxwell tried to push him off by his face.

“Dammit Max!” he strained under the weight, readjusting his grip on the man as his vigor to fight became renewed.

He did not see that some of the bathroom floor was wet and his foot slipped. He let out a cry before his head hit the tub. He grabbed his head, both pained and panicked at the feeling of the world suddenly turning and almost going black. It hurt a lot, and he was not sure if he would be bleeding, but that was certainly a concussion that he should get checked out by a doctor.

He managed to regain his bearings and looked up to see Maxwell choking on the makeshift leather noose again. Panic sent him to his feet again. He would worry about concussions later. He grabbed Maxwell’s legs and lifted him up, relieved to hear the hoarse and choked gasping for air.

“Please! Let me go!” Maxwell pleaded. There was so much despair and sadness in the man’s voice, more than Dooley ever thought he had in him.

This was nothing he could have expected. He could not have seen this coming. The man was always perfectly calm and collected, with nothing to disturb him but irritation. Being depressed and suicidal? That was right out of the left wing.

Then again, when he thought about it, people who were depressed and suicidal were usually the ones hiding it harder. They were the ones trying to be strong. They were the ones who were dealing with the world telling them there was something wrong with them, but they should just smile and deal with it. Max being the kind of man he was had probably been baring this burden of emotional trauma for over a year.

“Listen, Max,” he softened his voice, hoping he might get through to him by being more sentimental, “I know…I know it’s hard. There’s people you lose in life. They go away and you can’t never get them back. But death’s not something you can take back. Now, after everything we’ve been through, and everything we’ve done, you are going to throw in the towel?” He regretted that last bit, as it did not sound quite right in regards to being understanding in this situation.

“I…I can’t,” Maxwell sniffled, “I can’t keep…I can’t do…I can’t…” The man’s words seemed to just break down into gibberish now. He even switched over to his mother tongue of German, which Dooley had no understanding for. “He’s gone…I can’t…” was the most that Dooley could get out of him anymore.

“Listen, I know it’s rough,” Dooley pleaded, “It’s…it’s okay to feel upset. It’s okay to be sad. But, the rest of us…we’re lost too. Partner, you ain’t alone in feeling upset.”

“That just makes everything worse!” Maxwell declared.

“No it don’t!” Dooley barked, “Because we got each other! We ain’t all perfect, but life ain’t perfect smiles and rainbows! It’s hardship and hard work! You can let it go, or you can keep fighting!”

“I’m done with fighting,” Maxwell gasped, as more tears came to his face.

Dooley tilted his head back to look up at the man’s face. For the most part, he had been holding onto him from below, keeping a steady hold on him. This was the first time he looked up at the red and tear streaked face. Noticing the eyes on his face, the Medic looked back down at him, gasping as new tears fell to his chin.

“I…I just want him back…I want to be where he is,” Maxwell gasped, with exhaustion in his eyes, “I’m tired of fighting.”

“I…yea,” Dooley sighed, noting just how miserable his arms were at this point, “I…I’m tired too.” He lowered his chin and pressed his forehead against the other man’s middle. It was easy to see things for Maxwell’s side, but why could Maxwell not see things for him? “But, sometimes fighting is the difference between life and death for somebody else,” he said, tightening his hold with his arms, “And if you let go, what chance do they have? Why should _they_ keep fighting?”

There was silence, and then a gentle hand patted his shoulder. He looked up, but Maxwell was staring at the wall. The leather was swinging loosely, having been removed from his neck entirely.

Relief struck him like a brick to the face and he set Maxwell on his feet. He felt tears of joy and relief build up in his eyes, his throat burning with a lump. He smiled a little, feeling triumphant and needing a moment to feel that relief from the panic that had ensued before.

“I…your head is bleeding,” Maxwell stepped out of the bathroom, immediately returning with a medigun.

“Is it?” Dooley’s reaction felt slow, too tired to deal with any more emotional responses. He reached up to touch his head, but a hand smacked his away.

“Don’t mess with the wound,” Maxwell insisted, “Let’s get that cleaned up and we should go meet with Miss Pauling.”

Dooley smiled and nodded, letting the Medic work. He was mostly silent throughout the cleaning of Dooley’s wound. It was apparently not so bad and cleared right up, but the blood was left behind so it needed to be cleaned out of his hair. He almost dozed off in the chair he was sitting in, completely exhausted, before the Medic took his arm and pulled him to his feet to walk outside with him.

Miss Pauling acknowledged their presence, but nobody acknowledged the two mercenaries’ appearances. One was tired, and the other still had red eyes, despite his attempts to clean up the tear streaks on his face. They both looked like a mess to be going out to fight this morning.

 

*********************************************************************

 

The road was open and easy to travel. The trip was relatively short, and it was easy enough to get to the base they were going for. The goal was not too clear for Glen though. He would just have to keep his attention glued on what was going on around him, and stay alert. Luckily he had a full pot of coffee brewing in the back of his truck.

Scout had requested to ride with him, so the youth was sitting on the couch, waiting for the coffee to finish. It was safer than leaving the pot unattended anyways. It was slightly annoying, given how talkative the Scout could be, yet somehow it was refreshingly pleasant to hear his old teammate yammer on like he used to do, while everybody just ignored him.

The vehicles were to park a ways away, keeping the vehicles safe for getaway situations. The Snipers and Engineers were to hang back and guard the trucks, hopefully preventing damage, while also being prepared to the start the engines for a clean getaway.

“I mean, this _seems_ like a lot for one guy,” he suddenly tuned into what Scout was saying, “But, I really think it’s worth it. He’s pretty good at what he does and all.”

“One guy?” Glen glanced over at the Scout, a little perplexed.

“Maurizio,” the Scout replied, “Remember him?”

Glen scratched at the stubble on his chin, “Can’t say that I do.” He got up out of his seat and clambered out of the truck to look around for a good spot to snipe from.

Scout came out the side door, rushing over to continue talking with the Sniper. Why did he bother with talking back to him? That always resulted in the kid yammering on in his ear.

“You know? RED Spy?” the Scout offered, but he was shaking his head, “Is really good with cars? Italian?”

That last part reminded him of the really fruity Spy who used to hang around the BLU base. He never understood the guy, nor did he really get on with him. He could not hate him, but there was always something off putting about him to Glen.

“The Italian?” he suddenly asked.

“Yea!” Scout nodded.

Glen laughed and shook his head, “This is going to be an interesting day.”

“Scout!” the BLU Spy walked over and threw a thumb at Miss Pauling’s direction, “You’re needed over there.”

“Oh…yea…alright, cool!” Scout started towards Miss Pauling, “See ya, Snipes!”

They watched Scout go, until Spy cleared his throat. Sniper raised an eyebrow to him, curiously. “Yea?” he questioned.

“I was wondering what changed your mind,” the Spy inquired, “You were quite adamant about staying in Mann Co’s good graces.”

“Well,” he let out a breath, thinking back on what Melisa had said, “Guess um…guess I’m just a Sniper for life.”

“You already were a Sniper,” the Spy pressed, “Nothing had changed for you.”

“But it did,” Glen insisted, “Things changed. Nothing was the same. Everything was different. And…you know what? You can shut up and just be glad I’m here.”

Spy was silent for a moment, “I am glad you are here.”

“Good, because I am glad too,” Glen nodded.

He paused to scan the area again. He needed to find a spot to snipe from efficiently. The other two Snipers seemed to be getting on with finding decent spots to snipe from, utilizing the trees and some rope they had lying around in a truck. Maybe he would hang back with the Engineers and just snipe from the top of his camper.

“Careful, mon ami,” the Frenchman gave him a wave.

“Sentiment’s the same!” Glen chuckled, as he started climbing his truck to get on top. It would provide him with just enough lift to see a way’s off, while still being lower than the other two Snipers were planning to be.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maurizio was relieved when he saw the trees opening up. The dawn was rising and everything was looking up. So, with tears biting his eyes, he started running to escape the forest.

To his dismay, he came out to find none other than the BLU base. How he managed to get here again, he did not know. The tears turned from joy to sorrow, feeling at a loss.

“What the hell?” he asked himself, arms outstretched.

The noise of a blast caught his attention. There could not be a fighting going on. They were supposed to be on break for the weekend.

Curiosity got the better of him, so he headed in that direction. He had no intention of joining, just looking to see if he could pick up clues on what was going on. It was rare that teams would go against no fighting rules, but there was always an exception to be made. Shots fired, expletives thrown out, intelligence stolen by an overly sneaky Spy. It was always some juicy and dramatic reason that they started up the fighting.

He heard Forbes screaming his battle cry, before he saw the man launch himself in the air, only to be shot down. He was not impressed by the fact that he was shot down, nor how he was shot down. Rather, his eyebrows rose, because he spied a BLU Scout who shot him down. The Scout cheered, his voice giving off laughter that he remembered very well.

“Drake!” he cried out, but the other mercenary could not hear him. He ran, rushing to where the fighting was happening. He was almost hit by mistake, quickly activating his invis watch before he could take more damage.

He rushed around the edge of the fighting, hurrying to find a friend. He had to find somebody he knew amidst all of this chaos. He just hoped his friends did not falter and die in this fight. There was a very good chance that they could lose, all based on the fact that the resident mercenaries had respawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't remember, Maxwell's love (Boris) died back in Her Name. He has been barely coping with his death ever since.  
> I felt like this conversation (between Dooley and Maxwell) should have much much more, but things can't happen slowly all the time. Sometimes we need to make quick decisions. I wrote a lot of it from my own experiences on both sides, things people said that helped me, and times I have had to talk down others in that situation.  
> Frankly, from my experiences, people don't feel the same way about different things said. What is precious to one person is not to another. Others' lives aren't important to some people, but then there are people who have spent so much time, and worked so hard for others to succeed that failure for them (even if they would consider failure for themselves) is absolutely not an option.
> 
> In short, Maxwell's the kind of person that's been hanging on because he has seen that others need him. The moment he feels he is not needed (the presence of another Medic in the vicinity) he feels like there is a sort of release there, no more pressure to keep pushing through each day. His despair at being held back is there, but his decision was weighed more on the fact that he saw Dooley's injury than anything else. He saw a moment in which he was needed and began to see the bigger picture: Dooley was both offering to be there for him, and asking Max to be there for him.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I just about cried writing it.


	31. The Fight for…What are we Fighting For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fighting gets underway.

Bleu got caught up in the fighting so fast that he did not have time to think about it. There was no time to plan for anything, he just had to jump into the middle of it and wing it. It just all happened at once, and suddenly he was ducking around for his life. He was waiting desperately for the dead ringer to recharge, then booking it so hard he sprained his ankle. He had to restrain himself from crying out in pain when he started limping away.

At one point, he was even mistaken for Maurizio. It was the Soldier from the resident team who seemed to think that the red suit meant that he was the flavorful personality that was the Italian Spy. He came charging in with his shovel upraised. He would have stood no chance against that, having no weapon of his own, so he ran for his life.

“Get back here, you sack of crap!” the Soldier pulled out his rocket launcher, launching him through the air towards the Spy. He almost managed to smack him right in the head before hitting the ground.

Bleu tucked and rolled out of the way, hurrying to escape. The Soldier was hot on his tail though, in the sort of way that people would if he had backstabbed them a few times. Given he had no weapons, this was not the case, so the other option was that Maurizio had severely pissed this man off, though he was not sure that it was through backstabbing.

“Stop running, you cowardly faggot!” the Soldier called after him, a thunderous roar from a man who was used to shouting in the midst of loud explosions and battle cries.

That sounded different to his ears somehow. It was not the way he was screaming, as Soldiers tended to scream and shout as loudly as they could, it was the words he spoke. It was certainly not the kind of taunt that the Soldiers typically used. Perhaps this was just the heat of the moment though, so he decided to ignore it, as he ducked behind a building.

“Where’d he go?” the Soldier asked himself. Bleu could not see him, but he figured the man was scratching at his helmet, as if it were his head.

“Who ya lookin’ for, Soldier?” the resident Scout asked. He also could not see the youth, but imagined him resting his baseball bat across his shoulders like a little douchebag.

“That Italian hippie faggot!” the Soldier responded.

“Just missed him,” the Scout teased, before running off.

Bleu was clutching the dead ringer to his chest, panting for breath, “He thinks I’m Maurizio!”

The Soldier tromped off, leaving Bleu an opening to escape. He rushed across the spans to the next building, moving from place to place, with the dead ringer ready in case he got caught in the crossfire at some point. No risking the chance that he just might have been taken off of the Global Respawn already.

*********************************************************************

Andrew spotted the resident Scout. It was hard to keep track of him, because he and the other Scout were running around each other. Both being fast blue dots that were very agile, it was hard to keep track of which was which. He took a chance and aimed, glad when the resident Scout crumpled under his shovel.

“Thanks, pally!” Scout gave him a thumbs up.

He smiled back, glad to have helped out. But, then his aim went for the resident Heavy. He came down on the man, just as a loud explosion hit. He was not sure what was happening, but it burned.

He used to take these injuries like a champ, he assured himself. He thus pulled himself off of the ground, forcing himself onto his feet. He looked around, reassuring himself of his bearings. He started to limp away when he heard the cock of a shotgun.

“Boy! You shouldn’t have come back here,” the Texan cocked his shotgun, ready to open Andrew’s head with a blast.

“Heads up!” the Boston voice came from behind, before a blast hit the Engineer in the shoulder.

Andrew flung himself aside, tucking and rolling out of the way. He groaned in pain as everything refused to cooperate appropriately. His instincts told him to find a Medic to go to respawn. He had to remind himself that there was no respawn to lean back on.

Scout was walking towards them, when the Engineer’s little remote thing started going off. The man gasped in horror, “No! Respawn down!”

The Engineer’s head whipped back and forth, panic likely welling up in him. Andrew recognized the feeling. He was looking at the men who were about to all die and never respawn.

Scout was upon them now, and was about to let off a few rounds into the man’s head, when Andrew leaped forward. He had very little time to think. He had to act. So he struck forward with his hand, hitting Scout’s arm and throwing him off balance.

Scout let out a cry of surprise as he tumbled on the ground. He groaned as he got to one knee, “Solly, what the hell?”

“No respawn, no fighting,” Andrew said, turning to the Engineer, “Tell me where Maurice is! Tell me what you did with the Spy!”

“W-w-we-we lost him!” the Engineer stammered, terrified at facing two armed men with no respawn to back him up.

“What do you mean you lost him?” Scout scoffed.

“You’d better start talking!” Andrew warned. His mind went back to what had happened to him, what likely happened to Maurice.

“Just yesterday!” the Engineer exclaimed, “We lost track of him! And he got out! There was another Spy involved. We couldn’t round them up.”

Andrew turned to Scout, “Another Spy…”

“Yea…” Scout nodded, not fully wrapping his head around the concept.

He wished he had Spy there. Spy would have been able to take the information and do something beneficial with it. Now, it was up to Andrew to do something about this. And considering his record, Andrew was not very confident in his own abilities to do what a Spy could.

“Scout you-” just as he turned, a Demoman struck Scout’s arm, causing him to bleed out, and almost severing the limb. Scout screeched in pain and fell to the ground, his arm no longer able to hold his pistol.

Andrew turned and raised his shovel, defending against the next attack from the sword. The one eyed swordsman came face to helmet with him and he could smell the bourbon on his breath. He knew this Demoman once upon a time. He was a laughing man, a happy man, the guy who knew everybody’s secrets because he would mix their drinks and they would spill their guts.

With two hands holding the shovel, he could do nothing about the helmet for now. He gritted his teeth as he doubled his efforts against the familiar Demoman. If only they could be friends again.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Demo!” Andrew growled, putting as much force into the shovel as he could muster.

“You haven’t seen the full strength of my sword, lad!” the Demoman declared, thinking this was some sort of pissing contest.

“Back off!” Soldier demanded.

“Nae!” the Demoman spat at him.

He grit his teeth, holding his arms still as the Demoman tried to press down on him. He felt the Engineer’s eyes on one side of his face, and the Scout’s gaze from below. They were both waiting for something to happen, for something to change.

Something did change rather suddenly. The Demoman gave him a shove and he was forced back a large step. The Demoman paid the Scout no mind, stepping over him to approach Andrew. He rushed forward, but was quickly deflected by the shovel. He slashed at him, but again the blade was met with the shovel.

The sword drew back for another swing and Andrew stepped into his space. He swung upward, cutting the shovel upwards to smack him in the lower jaw. The Demo’s head was thrown back and he grunted.

He took that opportunity, quickly tucking the shovel away, to use him like a punching bag. He began pounding at him, from the breastbone down, forcing him to fall back onto the ground with force, and no blood. He stopped, turning his head to see Scout running off to get help.

The Engineer took advantage of the distraction, leaping in to punch him in the jaw. He was sent reeling, but took to fending off the next few punches with upraised fists. The hits beat and battered his arms, but it was better than his face. A right hook. Then a left hook smacked his knuckle against his eye. He winced but refused to back down, holding his defensive stance.

“I told you once, boy!” the Engineer raised his voice a little, to be heard clearly, “You shouldn’t have _come back_ here!”

“We were once teammates,” Andrew growled, as he held his ground.

“What?” that took the Engineer off, causing him to pause in his barrage of punches.

“Demo!” he called out to the Scotsman sitting on the ground.

The man looked up with his good eye, “Aye. That was a long time ago. And now the tables have turned. This is my team now.”

“You sorry excuse for a fighter!” Andrew shook a finger at him. In his head, he was trying to keep a handle on his focus, so he could say something that made the man think, not just a bunch of insults. “How could you _ever_ call yourself _anybody’s_ teammate, after abandoning us!”

“I didn’t abandon nobody!” the Demoman forced himself to struggle to his feet, wavering as if at his drunkest.

“You would have let us all die back there! And it wasn’t your bullshit son, but damn you for forgetting not to leave a fellow man behind!” he raised his voice as he spoke.

“I?” Demo walked towards him, practically shoving the Engineer out of the way. He poked a finger into Andrew’s chest. “I did everything! I couldn’t have done more! I did all I could in my power! I ain’t done nothing but keep the peace for my pals! And what did I get? Strung up for a series of incidents that _I_ had no control over!” it was the Demoman’s turn to raise his voice as he spoke.

“What are _you_ fighting for now?” Andrew growled.

“For my team!” the Demoman shouted at him.

“What do you think the rest of us are doing?” Andrew raised his voice even louder.

“You wouldn’t understand the first thing about what goes into keeping a team put together if they learned you in school!” the Demo raised his voice to the peak volume.

Andrew brought his voice up to his own maximum volume, “I don’t need school to show me that a friend’s turned their back on their old friends just because they have new ones!”

“This ain’t a schoolyard lad!” the Demoman kept up his loud shouting, “This is a war! We fight it day in and day out!”

“Don’t talk down to me, I know what it really is!” was Andrew’s loud response.

The Demoman seemed to be turning red as he grew angrier and angrier, “Oh really! And you have still yet to fathom what all of this puppetry has been about!”

“I would have seen it sooner, if you weren’t the one pulling wool over our eyes!” Andrew responded.

“It was me job!” Demo shouted with a touch of exasperation.

“It was dooming us!” Andrew replied loudly.

“It was dooming nobody! Miss Pauling went and meddled with everything!” the Demoman roared angrily.

Andrew did not have much response for that. He never really thought about how Miss Pauling fit into things before Hugh told him that they were joining her. He did not even fully understand her plans and her goals, he just knew that there was something good in her that they would never find in the Gray family. It was worth fighting alongside her.

“Look,” the Demoman sighed, finally lowering his voice, “I don’t expect you to understand. Most handlers don’t even know about everythin’ going on. And they wanna keep it that way. Lad, you don’t go creeping on somebody else’s base to steal things!”

“We had to,” Andrew argued, “We have teammates, Demo. Our teammates were injured. We had to have a medigun.”

“And the rest?” Demo demanded.

“We aren’t on respawn,” he told him. The look of surprise on the Demo’s face egged him on. “None of us are. At least, I don’t think any of us are. Most of us are with Pauling with our utmost trust, because our only way to survive is to come back to this…this **war**.”

There were about thirty seconds of silence. The two of them did not look at each other, awkwardly looking away and hoping that the silence would get less awkward.

Finally, the Engineer decided to step in and break the silence himself, “Boys, I hate to break it to you, but _our_ respawn went down near ten minutes ago.”

“Aye…dammit,” the Demoman muttered.

“If we die today,” Andrew said, straightening his back with pride, “Then we die like men!”

“Ye wouldn’t be saying that if you were falling to the dogs yourself, mate,” the Demoman said, a bit softly.

“I will fall,” Andrew admitted with a nod, “When my time comes to fail. I’ll fall. I’ve been prepared to die since the Nazis took over Germany! Don’t think I am not prepared to die here for my men!”

“Yea, well I’m here preparin’ to die for me own men,” the Demoman put in.

“And what about the rest of us?” Andrew pressed, “The ones you left behind?”

The Demoman sighed. The Engineer put a hand on his shoulder. The two of them shared a look, one that said that the Engineer might know what the Demoman was going through. Or at least he might be cued into his past.

“We’re here for Maurice,” Andrew said, firmly.

“The RED Spy?” the Demoman quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Yes!” Andrew nodded firmly.

“He isn’t even on your team! He was a RED!” the Demoman responded.

“I was a RED on his team,” he informed the Demoman, “When I was sent to Mexico, they placed me on RED. But it was not about the team color, it was about the team I was on. And I still will _not_ turn my back on those teammates, even if they are from RED!”

“So, you’re all wasting a lot of supplies and preparing to get yourselves killed for one man? One Spy?” Demoman asked, with disbelief.

“You never leave a soldier behind,” Andrew said, shaking a finger scornfully at him.

“Aw! Amico!” a familiar European voice caught their attentions. They all turned to see Maurizio appear, a mist of blue smoke and a decloaking noise announcing his presence. He was all dressed up in blue garb, still a Spy, but dressed in the wrong color.

“You! Why did you run?!” the Engineer shouted, turning to Maurice.

Andrew stepped in between his friend and the Engineer. He lifted a finger to poke at the shorter man’s chest. The Engineer looked at the hand, as if it had offended him.

“You shut your trap and leave him alone!” Andrew growled at him.

“Why don’t you do the same?” the Demoman forced himself between Andrew and the Engineer.

“No need to fight, amicos,” the Spy stepped back into view, “Listen. We don’t have to fight this round. We don’t have to be like _this_. It can go more smoothly!”

“I’m afraid to say that I am going to have to agree with him on this,” the Engineer admitted.

“What?” the Demoman gave him a surprised look.

“Respawn’s down,” the Engineer shook his head, “If we start losing men now, we’ll never see them again.”

The Demoman’s eye widened, “Dammit Engie! Why didn’t ya say nothing before?!”

“I said it twice, I’m sure!” the Engineer argued.

“I heard him say it once!” Andrew informed him.

“Ain’t gonna be easy to round up those boys,” the Engineer said, putting his fists on his hips.

“You can’t just tell them the respawn is down?” Maurice asked.

“Nah, they’ll keep fighting,” the Engineer responded.

“Always idiots,” the Engineer sighed, with a gesture of his hand for dramatic emphasis, “I am always working with idiots.”

Andrew chuckled at that, “But you always had a good time of it!”

The Demoman suddenly smiled at him, “Aye. That’s true.”

“Time to fight the fighting,” the Engineer said, grabbing his wrench, “You boys go on ahead with the information. I’m gonna send up a dispenser.”

“They will not listen to me or this Soldier,” Maurice informed him, gesturing towards Andrew.

“Just try,” the Engineer insisted, as he got out the metal he had in his pockets.

“Let’s go!” Andrew grabbed Maurice’s arm and started running towards the fray. They had the man they came for. At least they had won already, now they could stop the fighting anyways.

He kept a hand on his friend as he hurried through the mass of men fighting. He would have to make clear that it was Maurice later. First he had to secure him at the vehicles.

*********************************************************************

“The hell is that piker doing?” Glen muttered to himself as he turned to his scope. He turned it on the oncoming Soldier to see him dragging a BLU Spy behind him. The Spy looked rather panicked and confused.

“Who the hell is that?” one of the Engineers asked.

“Looks like Soldier’s bringing back our boy,” another Engineer said, pausing to adjust his overalls.

“Boys, that ain’t our Spy!” the third Engineer informed them.

Glen peered through the scope at them again, but could not be sure if he knew the Spy or not. Sure, he looked similar to Hugh, but Hugh’s suits tended to fit him better than this. Maybe he was another Spy, one they had not even paid attention to.

“Keep your sentries down,” he insisted, waiting to see the Spy up close.

He climbed down from his perch on the camper truck and hefted his rifle on his back. He strolled casually towards the Soldier coming their way. All the while, he was eyeing every perspective, waiting for any kind of attack.

“I found him! He’s here!” Soldier shouted, throwing the Spy forward.

“Slow down, amico!” the Italian pleaded.

Glen chuckled, “Blue’s a good color on you, Sicily.”

The Spy opened and closed his mouth a few times before he spoke, “I’m from Rome.”

“Whatever,” he turned to the Soldier, “Have you seen _Spy_? We should round everybody up if the deed is done.”

“They are dealing with a respawn down!” the Soldier reported in a military style. It was typical for him to be very down to his military roots, but this was a little beyond.

“We’ve got to get going,” Glen said sternly.

“Calling me Sicily is like me calling you Sidney,” the Spy interrupted.

“Okay, whatever,” he replied, dismissively. He headed towards the heat of the battle, “You two stick with the Engineers.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” the Italian Spy said.

“Scout!” the Soldier suddenly barked, charging off past Glen.

Seeing how Hugh might find this to be problematic, he chased after him. After all, if it were Melisa, Glen would want the Spy to keep her out of danger. But while Melisa could be won over with logic, he had no idea how he was going to reel the Soldier back in.

He chased him down to a slope, where the resident BLU Soldier had disappeared. He raised his rifle to eye level, ready to take a shot. Problem was that he could not take any shots, watching as two BLU Soldiers dueled back and forth with shovels. Nearby them, he could see a small blue clad figure struggling to get away from the fray.

He shifted his gun to his shoulder and rushed in to grab the figure. He was glad to find that it was the Scout, _their_ Scout. Problem was that Scout had taken quite a beating already. His arm was just about ripped off, there was blood everywhere, an ankle was twisted around, and there was a head wound soaking his hair. He took the Scout by the armpits and dragged him away from the fighting, hoping he might find a Medic soon.

“Medic!” he cried out for the smaller mercenary, “Meeeeediiiiiic!”

“You are not welcome in my world, maggot!” he heard a Soldier roar behind him, before something hit him in the head.

He stumbled back, releasing the Scout who cried out in pain. He hurriedly gathered his bearings and rushed to his feet. He did not take a lot of time to assess what else was going on, since the attacker was distracted by the other Soldier, once again. He hurriedly took Scout again and tried to drag him away as fast as he could.

“This hurts! This hurts!” Scout cried out in pain.

“I know! Just bear it!” Glen barked, “I’ll get you to a Medic.”

He turned his head just in time to see the resident BLU Soldier slam his boot into the other BLU Soldier. The man fell to the ground, looking up as the resident Soldier brought the shovel over his head.

Glen released the Scout, bringing his rifle to his eye again. One more hit with that shovel and the Soldier was doomed to die, no question about it. It was one Soldier or the other, so he aimed for the head, ready to take him down with a single shot.

“STOP!” a familiar voice caught his ear but did not stop his concentration, as he tried to angle the testy weapon appropriately.

“Soldier! You put that shovel down!” the familiar roar of a Demoman came over.

“Treason! Boys we have a traitor!” the resident Soldier pointed his shovel.

Glen looked over and was only stumped for a moment. He knew the man, the Demoman. He could not remember the name the others had been calling him by for a while. He had to shrug it off and turn his attention back to the Soldier.

“Put your weapon down!” the Demoman shouted, “Or you’re gettin’ a world of hurt!”

“You had better stand down with your commie talk, you cross-dressing maggot!” the Soldier shouted at him.

Suddenly, the Soldier on the ground struck him in the knee with his boot. He caused the man to fall over, bringing him down to his level, just the right level to beat him with his own shovel.

“Nae! Soldier! Stop!” the Demoman came charging in.

Glen put his gun down. He was too close for shooting and the Demoman was moving a bit too fast for him to follow. He put his rifle on his shoulder and grabbed his kukri.

“Soldier stop!” the Demoman immediately dove in to pull the shovels away from the two men.

Both Soldiers scrambled to their feet. Being disarmed did not stop their apparent fighting spirits though. They faced off and charged into each other, pounding with fists and grabbing to wrestle the other to the ground.

“Stop it!” the Demoman tried to pry them apart, but to no avail.

Seeing the Demoman’s actions, Glen put his kukri away. The man meant no harm. He seemed to be trying to stop the fighting after all. He rushed in, grabbing a hold of the Soldier he knew, hoping to pull him away, to leave the Demo to deal with the other Soldier.

“You’re going to die here, maggot!” one of the Soldiers said, loudly.

“You’ll taste the flavor of death first! Just like every Nazi piece of crud I have peeled off my boots!” the other replied.

Suddenly, the Demoman threw in a fist, connecting with a jaw. Glen kept a hold of the one he knew, pulling him away as the one that was struck hit the ground. He looked up to glare at his teammate.

“You piece of scum!” the Soldier growled with disdain.

“I’m tryin’ to tell ya, you idiot! There is no respawn!” Demoman exclaimed, “Pull back and retreat to the base!”

“Retreat?” the Soldier leaped to his feet, turning on his teammate, “Retreat is quitting, Demoman! Quitting is not in my vocabulary!”

“But you just said it twice,” the Scout commented.

“Shut your trap, hippie!” the Soldier turned to start towards Scout, only stopped by the Demoman’s hand.

“Go see Engineer!” the Demoman barked, “He’s waiting for you fellas back at the base!”

“Like I’d take orders from a traitorous scum like you!” the Soldier growled.

“Let me break his teeth,” the other Soldier said, trying to wriggle out of Glen’s grip.

“Nae! You go with your team,” the Demoman pointed at the Sniper and the Soldier he was holding, then turned his finger to his teammate, “You head over to the base. I swear, if Engie comes out, he’s gonna make hell rain down.”

“You can’t scare me with open threats, maggot!” the Soldier got in the Demoman’s face.

“If you think that, then you don’t know the Engineer so well,” the Demoman said, with a cheeky grin.

There was a moment of silence, as if something had hit the Soldier. He glanced over his shoulder at the Sniper and the other Soldier, before he started running. He did not look back again, rushing towards the base.

The Demoman sighed with relief, “Mother fucking idiots. Whole team’s gonna get themselves killed. And it ain’t as if I haven’t _already_ had it up to my eyeball with this lot!”

“Glen,” the Soldier suddenly said.

“Yea?” Sniper looked at him, feeling very dumbfounded, after what he just witnessed.

“Can you let me go now?” Soldier asked.

“Ah- yea,” he immediately released the Soldier and backed away. He brushed the front of his shirt down, as if he got dirt on it.

“Uh…a little help here?” the Scout pleaded, in a desperate and pathetic sounding groan.

“We’re setting up a dispenser by the base,” the Demoman offered.

“Nah,” Glen raised a hand to turn down the offer, “We’ve got three up already.”

“I’ve got you Scout,” he turned to see the Soldier picking up the younger mercenary.

Scout groaned with pain, but the Soldier was too preoccupied to worry about his pain. He shifted his weight, then hurried as fast as he could in the direction of the trucks. Glen started to follow at his heels, then decided that he should tell the others.


	32. RED Respawn Malfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew rushes to save Scout, only to find himself in a conversation about how supicious all of this is.  
> Hugh and Antoine have their own mission, one they haven't openly talked about with any of the other mercenaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have updated the tags, so any of you who haven't checked in a while and haven't seen previous notes about it, please check them. This is mostly for you to have the opportunity to choose to move forward or not in the story.

Andrew held onto Scout as tightly as he could, carrying him pressed against his chest with full force in his arms. The younger mercenary did not even seem to realize how badly beaten up he was. He just kept talking about how uncomfortable he was, protesting against every step that Andrew took, as if this were a light jog that he was not necessarily supposed to take part in. From time to time, he even asked if they could take a break and stop running, forgetting entirely that he was bleeding internally. Andrew could not stop, he had to get this kid to the dispensers. There was no time to find a Medic for this mangled mess.

His feet beat against the ground, pounding his way towards the Engineers. There were three dispensers already set up. They would save the boy. His saving grace would be over by the trucks, so he turned his attention in that direction and did not look back.

He blocked out everything else, putting his focus onto those dispensers. He knew right where they were and he would not be dissuaded from getting to them. He would not fail his friend. He would not let Scout down.

“Never leave a soldier behind!” a voice came to mind, “Never forget that your fellow men would do the same for you!”

He grit his teeth and smiled through the tears. Scout was fading fast, barely talking at all. He seemed barely aware of what was going on. He seemed almost insane in the way he was talking too. He did not even seem aware of where he was anymore, talking like they were somewhere in town or something.

“Just hold on, Scout!” he insisted, letting the tears flow as he leaped over brambles.

He imagined how Scout would try to help him. Scout would try to help him, after all. He knew that the younger mercenary did not have the muscles to lift his coworkers, but he would try. The image of him trying to lift the two hundred pounds of muscle that sat on Andrew’s torso and arms. More tears flowed from his eyes as he thought about it.

Scout suddenly became aware of his rescuer’s crying, “Hey, hey, hey! No need to cry! Man, everything’s gonna be fine!”

He smiled, hoping Scout could see it from behind the helmet, “That’s right, Scout! Everything’s gonna be just fine!”

He looked up to see the vehicles. He could see the distant glow of a couple of dispensers, one blue and two red. Any of them would work, he just had to keep running as fast as he could. He would make it in time, he was sure. He might not be a doctor, but he was positive that he would get there in time to save Scout.

“I need an available dispenser!” he shouted as he came within hearing distance of the Engineers.

“Over here, Solly!” his friend called to him, waving at him with a gloved hand.

He hurried towards him and laid Scout down with his back against the dispenser. The machinery immediately activated by the presence of wounds. It healed both Scout and Andrew. He backed away, hoping it would focus on Scout and hurry to fix him.

“He doesn’t look so good, Solly,” Dooley said, scratching the back of his neck.

“He is going to be okay,” Andrew said firmly.

Dooley nodded to him, “I uh…I hope so, partner.” He turned his head, drawing Andrew’s attention away.

There were a few more mercenaries running their way. He recognized the Medic running their way, following a big RED Heavy who was half trying to carry him.

“I am on fire!” the Medic called to him.

“Over here, son!” Dooley waved to him.

“I need ammo for my gun!” the Heavy called out.

“Got you covered, partner!” the other RED Engineer called out to him.

“Engineer needs to move his gear up!” the Heavy said, as he grabbed the supplies he needed from the specified dispenser.

“Nope,” was Dooley’s immediate response.

“I’ll be right up, partner,” the BLU Engineer grabbed his gear and started towards the front.

“Nein! Pull back!” the Medic cried out.

“It’s too late, doc,” the other RED Engineer stated, “He ain’t listenin’ and he’s gone.”

“It’s true though,” Andrew insisted, “We need to pull back.”

“Hey! Uh…” the Bostonian’s voice caught his attention and he went down to one knee next to the Scout. “Hey uh…thanks man,” the Scout said, a bit weakly, “I wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t run. I think.”

“Never leave a man behind!” Andrew stated.

“So you’ve said,” the Medic stated.

“A good mantra from a good man!” Maurice piped up, appearing next to Andrew. He clapped his shoulder, as he looked down at the Scout, who had passed out from the pain at this point.

“It’s one I live by! The one every real soldier lives by!” Andrew added.

“Mantras or no mantras,” the Medic turned his shoulders to look over past the trees towards the base, which was out of view because of said trees. They could hear the explosions and gunshots of the fight, but they did not have a visual of it. It was the perfect place to get ambushed, but also the best place to keep their vehicles away from the onslaught and fire-fighting. “We need to pull everybody back,” he turned to Dooley, “Get the trucks packed up. The way things are going, we might have to drive a truck out there for them to notice that it’s time to leave.”

“They’ve gotten caught up in it all, is all,” one of the other Engineers put in.

“I’m sure- wait…why are there so many mercenaries here anyways?” Maurice asked, flinching as he realized that he had not asked this question sooner.

“We came here to save you!” Andrew smiled at him proudly. He was so proud of this team for collectively coming to save a fellow man.

“With so many mercenaries?” Maurice furrowed his brows in a concerned manner, “There has to be something else. Something deeper…more important about this fight.”

“Miss Pauling hasn’t been very forthcoming with details,” Dooley cut in, “But I reckon there’s something else going on.”

“Something she isn’t telling us,” Maurice nodded in agreement.

“We should get back in the fight!” Andrew said, reaching to find that he no longer carried his bazooka. Where had he left his bazooka?

“Nein! We need to pull _out_ of the fray! This was supposed to be a quick in and out,” the Medic cut in.

“Sí, but if this has anything to do with Miss Pauling, then this may have been planned to be much longer than we expected,” Maurice said, with a guilty tone of admission.

Curious, Andrew kept listening. It seemed like a conspiracy was going on. It was the kind of thing that would go right over his head normally. Maybe if he followed what they were saying more closely he would understand what was really going on.

“What do you mean?” Dooley asked, with a suspicious look on his face.

“I would be lying if I did not say I was a little suspicious of Miss Pauling from the start,” Maurice explained, “Things aren’t adding up. Everything is a mess. There is always some excuse for every little thing.”

“Well, there needs to be some explanation for everything we do,” the Medic rolled his eyes.

“Doctor! We go now!” the Heavy interrupted, giving the Medic’s shoulder a shake.

“No!” the Medic barked at him, “We are not going back in there!”

“There is no respawn for any of the teams,” Maurice went on, “Their team’s respawn went down. I have no doubt that at this time, the resident RED team is trying to get theirs up and working. And we are here without any back up. Doesn’t that seem a little fishy to you?”

“Maybe?” Andrew put in, hoping to add his own thoughts to the discussion.

“If we keep being suspicious of every little thing, then we cannot get work done!” the Heavy pressed.

“Hold onto your britches,” Dooley insisted, holding up a hand, “Maurice may be onto something.”

“But why?” Andrew asked. Why would Miss Pauling of all people do something like tell them it would be a quick fight and not tell them it would go on longer, if she knew?

 

*********************************************************************

 

Hugh and Antoine slipped by the RED team unnoticed. Having thought the battle was sectored to the BLU zone, they were not even suspicious of two Spies crawling around. Hugh even managed a disguise, borrowing an extra suit from Antoine, so that they were both RED. Even if the alarm was triggered, the majority of the team would be too confused to understand what it meant.

“I will keep the area clear, you pick the lock,” Antoine said to him, pulling out his revolver.

“Right,” Hugh whispered, hurrying past him, around the corner and into the alcove that held a small door. It was one of the many securities against intruders like them.

“Hurry up,” Antoine pressed, nervously.

“I am working on it,” Hugh whispered, as he fiddled with the lock.

It was such a primitive looking door, with a primitive lock that it did what it was supposed to. When they stepped through it, both Spies were a little shocked at the immense door before them. They had both been beyond the doors of respawn machines, but neither had seen a door quite like this.

“It looks like something out of Drake’s movies,” Antoine commented.

Hugh rolled his eyes as he approached the door, “Becoming a father again is still fresh in your mind, isn’t it?”

Antoine frowned at him and switched to French, “It’s been a long time since I could say that I was involved in my son’s life.”

“Perhaps the only reason you stayed was because of your son’s life,” Hugh argued, running a hand over the smooth metal panel. It was so cold and lifeless that he could not imagine anybody walking through this within the past decade. “You were always proud that he existed, you didn’t care what he did,” he commented with a hearty chuckle.

“That’s not fair,” Antoine argued, “Or true. It’s been hard to be proud of an idiot. You of all people should realize how much of a screw up he’s been.”

“I was never involved in the family life though,” Hugh argued, moving along the door to the other side of it. There did not appear to be a handle, or knob, or even a key slot anywhere on its surface.

“Well, that was pretty shit for the most part, to be honest,” Antoine told him, “Not that I didn’t love being a part of it…but her kids were little shits.”

Hugh had to chuckle at that, even just a little. He imagined seven or eight older versions of Scout running around and causing trouble. How irritating that must have been for the RED Spy.

“At least you don’t have to deal with that,” Antoine commented, causing Hugh’s laughter to go silent, “Be grateful for that.”

Hugh looked at him curiously. He was not sure where that had come from, but he did not want to make a fight, so he decided to ignore it. He turned his full attention to the door, searching for any signs of a lock or a way of opening it.

“They already got in!” a voice echoed from the hallway.

Both Spies looked at the door and then at each other. Panic hit them as they realized that they were cornered in a small room with only one entrance and exit. They looked from the door they came in through to each other and back a couple of times.

Finally, Hugh spoke up, “Cloak. They’ll come in. We’ll slip out past them. Find a disguise and off the man. We’ll regroup here.”

Antoine nodded in agreement, before clicking the invis watch on his wrist, “Got it.”

Hugh turned on the invisibility just in time for the door to slam open. He stared as a Soldier tromped in, followed closely by a Demoman and an Engineer. They looked around, cautiously searching for the intruders.

“I’m going to go check the hallway,” the Engineer said, before doubling back.

When the two were alone in the room, the Demoman looked to the Soldier, “Do you reckon they’re hiding?”

“In plain sight! The cowards!” the Soldier announced.

“And what if they got in?” the Demoman pointed to the big door.

“No man could ever get in there!” Soldier announced.

“Aye, you’re right,” the Scotsman nodded in agreement, before doubling back after the Engineer.

Looking rather curious about the door, the Soldier approached it. He sized it up, looking over its smooth frame. His hand came to rest on one side, and it lit up around the shape of his hand.

The Soldier chuckled to himself, “I am the man who opened the door!” Upon his words, the door began to open, revealing the dark room inside.

“Thank you,” Antoine’s voice was followed by the decloak sound as he stabbed the Soldier in the spine.

The Soldier fell as the door finished opening. Hugh darted in past Antoine, letting down his cloak. He rushed right towards the machinery, where small beeps and lights were going off, as per usual for a respawn machine.

“Hurry! We haven’t much time!” Hugh hastened.

“So much for the plan,” Antoine chuckled, moving a bit more slowly as he joined Hugh at the panel, “I think this worked out better in our favor.”

“They are going to come back,” Hugh pointed to the door.

Antoine did a mock salute, the way a Scout would, “Look out for intruders, roger that.”

Hugh rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the panel. These respawn machines were not the kind of thing that Spies handled. But, only a Spy could get in here fairly undetected. He was just glad that whatever Miss Pauling pulled out of her ass would work – at least, he hoped it would work.

He pulled the USB drive out of his inner pocket and quickly plugged it into the hub. He waited as it read the ported hard drive, waiting for it to process the system programming.

Suddenly, the hub started reacting and it began to count upwards in percentage. That was what Pauling told him it would do. It was downloading the contents of the machine, making its inner workings evident. It would not be long that, like the BLU respawn, this respawn would be remotely shut down. No doubt the higher ups would claim that it was for maintenance.

Suddenly, the respawn started blaring a warning alarm. They were trying to remotely disable the respawn. Problem was that it was plugged in, and to prevent him from finishing, they had to do a nasty shut down.

“Hurry hurry!” he told the hub, growing more and more anxious about the situation. No doubt somebody would hear the respawn going off, if the Engineer’s remote was not already rigged to alert him of any damage.

“The Demoman is coming back!” Antoine came back into the room.

“I know, I know,” Hugh shifted from foot to foot nervously. He hated waiting on others, waiting for machinery was even worse.

“Take what we can get!” Antoine insisted, hurriedly. He kept glancing over his shoulder out the door, expecting somebody to appear.

“No,” Hugh shook his head, “Pauling said this would damage the information if we did not wait for its ready message.”

“It will be damaged if _they_ finish their system shut down!” Antoine insisted.

Hugh began to wonder if there _would_ be any actual damage done to the information if he took it out now. It would not be everything, but it was something. Something was better than nothing, after all.

The sweet little beep brought his attention back to the little monitor on the hub. The download had finished. It was at one hundred percent and was ready for him to take the USB drive out.

With a pleased smile, he snatched out the drive and hurried from the room, “We got it! Let’s go!”

They ran from the room. They fled down the hallway. They rushed out of the base. Behind them, they could hear the sounds of panic, and an Engineer alerting his team that the respawn was down.

No need to worry about them though. They would be fine, being as they were out of the fight. The Engineer would toy with the hub for a bit, they would call Administration, and the respawn would get set back up. Now, all the two of them had to do was get this information back to the trucks and flee the scene.

“Why couldn’t we have gotten this information at the other-” his words were cut off as the two ran right into the RED Spy.

Antoine was first to grab his gun. Hugh bounded to his feet, scrambling to grab his own weapon. The opposing Spy grabbed his revolver and pointed it back at them.

“Drop your weapons,” the resident RED demanded.

The two of them exchanged a brief glance. “You are outnumbered,” Antoine stated.

“Oh…right…” the resident Spy immediately dropped his gun and put his hands into the air, “Don’t kill me!”

“We-” Hugh was cut off as a blast hit the ground near them. It was close enough that the sound pounded in his ears and the debris burned his face.

The sudden realization of what had just gone down flashed before his eyes and stood stark vivid in his mind. He scrambled to his feet and looked around. His head was hurting and he was not sure which way to run. Should he even run? He looked to his feet to see Antoine slowly getting up, being a little more shaken by the explosion.

He reached down to help him up, just as a hard object struck the back of his head. He screamed out in pain as he fell to the ground, hitting his face. He slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, before having a big heavy boot pressed into his back.

“Stay down, maggots!” a Soldier announced over his head.

“You!” the resident Spy declared.

“Me!” the Soldier declared, before the ringing of a shovel filled Hugh’s ears.

For a while, he could not figure out why he could not see. As his mind cleared, he finally opened his eyes and looked around. The burn of a rocket blast marred the ground around him.

Behind him, he could feel hands being tied up with his hands. He looked over his shoulder to see that the Soldier was tying him with Antoine and the resident RED Spy. He heard Antoine grumbling in French about a headache, but could not be bothered with it.

His attention was caught by a familiar Italian’s voice. Or rather, he thought it was the familiar Italian’s voice. He looked up to see another Spy dressed in red, but they had not brought any other Spies dressed in red. That meant that it had to be Maurice. But, there was something off about the facial structure and the way his suit fit him, as if it were not tailored to his measurements.

“Is that-?” Antoine was looking at the same Spy as he was, bewildered.

“No…” Hugh squinted, trying to get a better look at the man somehow.

“Tying men up now? What a pathetic attempt of domineering!” the newcomer taunted the Soldier, but in the Italian Spy’s voice.

“Is he seriously…doing that?” Antoine asked, with disbelief.

The Soldier turned, with a nasty snarl on his face, “Eat rockets, maggot!” He fired off a triple shot at the Spy.

Smirking, the Spy stepped aside a bit, but did not get far enough away for the blast to not kill him. Any Spy who had ever used a dead ringer knew that look of death though. It was not like a normal death. The scream itself was a tell all on its own, as the Spy barely moved from his body, just long enough to let the scream out. Then he did move, hiding under the cloak while the Soldier went to gloat over his fresh kill.

The invisible Spy was not too bright, because he let the Soldier hear him chuckling as he snuck up behind him. Alarmed by the sound, the man spun around, slamming his shovel directly into his face. He was sent spiraling to the ground, panicked and stunned.

The Soldier grinned at his success, dropping to his knees as he grabbed the man’s legs. The stunned Spy groaned, just starting to come around when he realized that the ground was moving under him. Or rather, he was being dragged across the ground.

“Not today!” a BLU Spy appeared behind the Soldier, bringing a knife down on his shoulder.

The Soldier screamed in pain, while the Spy stepped around him to pull the fallen Spy away from him. After dragging the man, he approached the three tied up to untie them.

His toothy grin was too familiar, “Hello amicos! Did you miss me!”

“You didn’t kill him,” Antoine noted, looking at the Soldier. Hugh looked over to see that the Soldier was going for his shotgun. “You should have,” Antoine added, with a frown, “And this is how we die.”

A body came falling through the air and a loud smack of a shovel knocked the Soldier down. Andrew looked up at them and grinned from beneath his helmet. So much pride went into that smile, no doubt.

“Hello ladies!” Andrew laughed.

Maurizio finished untying them and they hurried to their feet. The resident Spy immediately put up his cloak, and they could hear his feet running away. Hugh turned his attention from that to the immediate threats.

“Why is _everybody_ in the wrong color? Well…except you,” Maurizio pointed to Antoine, “You’re still in red.”

“We could ask you the same,” Hugh noted.

“He’s still alive!” Andrew announced, bringing their attentions to him. He was inspecting the Soldier, to find that he was still breathing, though hoarsely.

“Leave him,” Hugh said, dismissively.

“He’ll die either way,” Antoine waved off the idea as well.

Andrew frowned at that response, “Never leave a man behind!”

“As I remember it, never leave a _fellow_ man behind,” Hugh pressed, stepping towards Andrew, “Don’t mix up who’s the enemy and who’s on our team. It would be disastrous. Let the resident BLU team deal with him.”

“He-help me up?” the fallen Spy held up his hand, hoping somebody might assist him. Andrew was the first to grab his hand, pulling him to his feet with a loud grunt. “Thanks, mon ami,” the Spy nodded to him.

“Don’t mention it, Réne,” Andrew nodded in response.

Ah, that was his name, Hugh thought. He felt a bit turned around, seeing Maurizio dressed in blue, while the previous BLU Spy was dressed in red. They must have switched for some unknown reason, he thought.

“Fall back,” Andrew commanded, “This mission’s over. We’re pulling out.”

“This mission was a success,” Hugh commented, smiling to himself. He would not tell Andrew outright, for the presence of the other Spies, but he was proud of himself for getting the intel from the respawn machine.

“Right, let’s go!” Maurizio nodded in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is Miss Pauling up to?


	33. Load up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to load up and get going!  
> Scout is not having an easy time with healing up.  
> Andrew picks up a hitchhiker.  
> Hugh and Antoine almost have a private conversation regarding the mission.

When Drake came to his senses, he felt bewildered. Everything was happening around him, but he was not involved in any of it. He was not a participant, just a watcher who could not quite bring himself to become a participant. He felt like a fly on the wall, in a sense.

“Scout? Are you alright?” he heard Miss Pauling’s voice.

“Y-yea, I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Are you sure?” a Medic pressed, leaning close to his face.

“Yea! I’m fine!” he insisted, reaching up to push the face away from him.

“He’s going to survive, but I don’t know how the rest of him is,” the Medic said, turning to Miss Pauling.

“What do you mean how the rest of him is?” she demanded.

“He took a very solid blow to the head,” he explained, “From the way he is responding, he seems to be concussed,” he explained.

“Scout? Can you see properly?” her face moved into his vision again.

“Yea…er…no…not really,” he corrected himself.

“Shit,” Miss Pauling turned her face away, looking around with what looked like desperation.

The Medic suddenly grabbed Drake’s face, peeling his eyelid back with a thumb and shining a light into his eyeball. He cried out in pain and irritation. He shook his head, trying to escape the frustrating and painful situation.

“Just gimme the medigun, doc!” he cried out, desperately.

“I’m afraid it’s not working sufficiently,” the Medic turned to Pauling, “These effects could be permanent.”

“God dammit!” Miss Pauling exclaimed angrily.

“Hey! Uh…don’t worry, Miss Pauling! I’ll be alright!” he insisted.

She gave him a worried look, “Just take care of him, doc.”

The world became a little hazier. The haze grew stronger and stronger, until he realized that it was dark. He let his eyes close and his body relax. He was in the care of a Medic after all. It was not just a dispenser healing him, there was actually a medical professional looking after his health. And with that in mind, he let himself drift off to sleep.

 

*********************************************************************

 

The battle cries rang out and the cries of pain hung in the air. Andrew did his best to grab any man he found injured. Of course, he was not very familiar with the two teams that had joined them, so some of them were confusing.

He stuck to a pattern though. Enemies tended to lash out at him, especially when they were at their weakest. As long as he got away from them fast enough to find his teammates, he would be fine.

“Soldier! Rally by the trucks!” an Engineer called to him, before running in the direction of the trucks himself.

“Affirmative!” he hefted the stolen bazooka and launched himself through the air. From up here, everybody looked like ants, ants he could not identify, but ants he could easily avoid.

As he came down, he started running towards the trucks, making his way back to where the Engineers had their dispensers up. He suddenly trip, only to hear a groan in response. He hurried to get off the ground, turning to see the body he had tripped over. Half covered by the forest floor, a Demoman had been half buried, hiding him from the enemy, but also hiding him from the help he desperately needed. Given his condition, there was no way he hid himself either.

“You’re probably not on our side,” he said, setting the bazooka aside, “But, I’d sleep better knowing I didn’t leave a man to die without a chance.”

He grabbed the Demoman’s legs and pulled him out of the majority of the fallen leaves and sticks that had matted the floor. The man spat out some leaves and looked around, bewildered. He grabbed a bottle from his side, then looked up to see Andrew.

“Oh!” the Demoman exclaimed, blinking his one eye with a look of surprise, “It’s you!”

“It’s me,” he stated. Now he wondered if this was a Demoman they had brought along with them or not.

“Thanks mate,” the Demoman took a deep swig of his whiskey and sighed his relief at having a deep drink, “It was fun while we were friends, back in the day.”

Andrew flinched in surprise, as he realized that this was the Demoman he used to be teammates with. He sighed and started to turn away, realizing that he was not on _their_ team. He was the resident Demoman, after all.

“I just wish things could go back!” the Demoman cried out.

He turned to see the man crying. He was likely belligerent, barely aware of his surroundings or what was happening. He might have even forgotten that he was in the middle of battle.

He took another drink of his whiskey, “I woulda…I did…I did all that I could! I did all the things I was supposed to. Now I’m bein’ punished. But you, you were always a good good guy. You were always good. A nice guy. Too nice for war.” He gestured to Andrew with his half drunk bottle.

“I am just doing my best on the battlefield,” Andrew said, glancing over his shoulder in the direction he was supposed to be running.

“I’m sorry,” the Demoman cried.

“I have to go,” Andrew said, throwing a thumb in the direction he was supposed to be running.

“I’m sorry I did you like that,” the man cried, letting his bottle fall, “I’m sorry I was shit! I was a shit for friend!”

“You did what you had to,” Andrew said, hoping to slip away from this conversation.

The Demoman pulled him right back in, “No! That’s the thing! I don’t think I did! You and me? We coulda been best mates! Now look at me. I’m cryin’ my wee sorrows out on the floor like a drunken madman!”

“You are in the midst of battle,” Andrew stated, “You are likely delirious from adrenaline, alcohol, pain and more alcohol.”

“I used to be great!” the Demoman pushed himself up into a sitting position and gestured to Andrew, “I used to be real good. You remember? I knew how to make a drink for every man. Everybody loved me drinks!”

“I liked your drinks,” Andrew nodded in agreement, crouching down to get a bit closer.

“And…and…when I started doing the bar tending thing, it made us a team! We mingled and talked! You got outta your half-witted, American dreamin’ shell!” the Demoman laughed.

Andrew frowned at him. He was certain that somewhere in there was an insult of some sort. He did not say anything, given that the laughing drunk was likely unaware of this misjudgment.

“I…and I…I’m sorry!” the man started crying again, “I was just the team favorite with the drinks. Nothing more. You coulda done better for a friend.”

“I have many friends,” Andrew assured him, hoping that bit of information might cheer him up.

“You…you boy…you did well with Spy,” Demoman rubbed his eyes and nose on his sleeve, “Everybody hated him cause he’s a sneak. And that’s his lot in life. But he’s a good man. He really is! You know…you know he killed a man? He killed a lot of men. Don’t you know? In the war. You always screaming about Nazis. They should give him a medal for killing Nazis.”

“You are belligerently shouting,” Andrew said, glancing around at the other men fighting around him, “What say we take this conversation somewhere else?”

The Demoman paused as Andrew offered him a hand. There were a few moments of stunned silence, before the Scotsman took his hand with a solid grip, to be pulled up by Andrew. Being too injured to so much as stand, the Demoman almost fell over. Andrew barely caught him, pulling him to be carried on his back.

“I’m…I’m truly sorry mate,” the Demoman went on, as Andrew carried him towards the trucks, “Nobody’s nice to ya when you can’t hold your own. I know you’re sick. That doesn’t give them any right to be mean to ya.”

“I am literally confused by what you are talking about,” Andrew said, hoping he might shut up. He was not entirely sure he followed what the Demoman was talking about. Sick? Was he sick? How would the Demoman know if he was sick, if Andrew did not even know that he was sick?

“You did good things,” the Demoman went on, “You always did.”

“It’s in my nature,” Andrew said proudly, rushing towards the last dispenser still standing.

“You were nice! And I was shit! And you didn’t deserve that,” the Demoman went on, “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry. I shoulda said something sooner to them, mate. And then they took ya away! They took you away…to some garbage hole in Mexico!”

“It was not a garbage hole,” he argued, as he hefted the Demoman to the ground, setting him against the dispenser.

“I’m sorry,” the Demoman sniffled, “You were a good man! I was so mad they took you away. Didn’t even lend us a chance. Then Miss Pauling said she’d bring you back. But when she did, there were those assholes. And you were all buddy buddy. Nothing was the same again!”

“Standing right here, mister,” Dooley said, a bit miffed at the Demoman’s words.

“He is very belligerent,” Andrew nodded in greeting.

“Drinking on the job ain’t no way to be,” Dooley said, taking the whiskey bottle from the Demoman.

“I can’t take the pressure no more! And now I’m bein’ punished! I messed up and about half my team’s gone. _Half_! Do you know what that equates to?” the Demoman exclaimed with frustration.

“Fifty percent of the men you worked with?” Dooley offered.

“It equates to me getting downgraded and serveilified!” the Demoman proclaimed, pointing at Dooley. Suddenly, his head hit the dispenser and he passed out.

Dooley looked to Andrew, “Solly, he ain’t one of our boys.”

“I know,” Andrew nodded.

“I know you mean well. I know it’s hard to contend with, but you gotta take him back there…where his teammates can find him,” Dooley said pointedly.

Andrew sighed, “I will. Just let his wounds heal.”

“Everybody load up!” Miss Pauling proclaimed, coming back with a limp and a shotgun.

“I need a few minutes!” Andrew called to her.

“No time! We gotta get going!” Pauling insisted, pointing to the trucks. She turned to one of the RED Medics to talk to him.

Andrew turned to see Dooley loading a shotgun. He quickly grabbed the weapon, “No!”

“Solly, we ain’t got a choice,” Dooley insisted, “It’s leave him here to die from his injuries, or put him outta his misery.”

“B-bring him along!” he insisted.

“What?” Dooley blinked at him.

“Ah, I see our old comrade is joining us?” Hugh appeared beside Andrew, strangely dressed in red attire. Andrew could not help but look him up and down.

“Not quite,” Dooley replied, releasing the gun, “This boy brought him in like a dead fish. Demo’s been out cold since.”

Hugh pulled a revolver out of the inside of his jacket, “I’ll make this quick.”

“For the love of- does anybody here besides me even _care_ that there’s a chance he could join us?” Andrew proclaimed.

“Load up!” Miss Pauling called to them.

“Time to go!” a Heavy called out.

“Ja!” a Medic responded to the Heavy.

“Look, son,” Dooley turned to Andrew, “We ain’t got the time to debate this. And when he refuses to join us, we’ll have to kill him anyways. It’s easier to just leave him like he is. Kill him in his sleep. Let it be fast. That way he don’t suffer too much.”

“It’s the best resolution,” Hugh nodded in agreement.

Andrew puffed up his chest stubbornly, “Engie, can you put a dispenser in the back of the truck?”

“Er…yea?” Dooley looked a bit sheepish at the admission.

“Then do it!” he barked, bending down to pick up the Demoman. He pulled him over his shoulders and hefted him into the back of a truck. A Medic happened to be there, though he was helping a Scout get in.

“I can’t do that, Sol!” the Engineer exclaimed, “He’s too injured for a dispenser anyways. And we need the space for supplies and people.”

“We can make room!” Andrew insisted.

“I’m right here, dummköfpe!” the Medic in the back of the truck leaned over the side, “I’ll deal with the patient myself!”

The man must not have understood the discussion, or at least he had not heard it. Either way, Andrew was not giving the other two the chance to argue or tell him what it was. He hefted the Demoman, making sure he was well placed, before he hefted himself into the back. The Medic immediately pulled out his medigun to start treating the Demoman’s wounds.

“Andrew?” Hugh gestured towards his car, the vehicle they came in together.

“I’m riding in this truck,” Andrew said, folding his arms stubbornly, “I’ll see you at rendezvous.”

Hugh looked disappointed as he turned and headed back to his car. It would be a long and lonely drive, with just Scout and the RED Spy to keep him company. Likely, the Scout would be yammering on and on about the battle and his personal kills. Then the RED Spy would be getting irritated and telling the boy to shut up. It would be lonely, and not to mention irritating, for Hugh.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“Where is that brat?” Antoine muttered to himself, as he slinked through the mess of men jumping into vehicles. He spotted Pauling and pulled her aside. “Have you seen Scout? The BLU one with the awkward nose and slightly crooked teeth?”

“He’s in another truck with a Medic,” she told him, “Just get in a truck already!” She hastily climbed into a truck next to a RED Pyro as she spoke.

He sighed, relieved to know his son was okay, even if he was not driving back with him. He would see the boy later. Besides, it would be nice to have a much quieter ride out of here. Hugh was definitely better company, even with his louder American companion around.

He climbed into the car to find Hugh alone behind the driver’s seat. He looked like he was deep in thought. His lips were twitching, as he tried to make a decision about something.

“Scout will not be coming,” he informed him, “He’s being taken care of by a Medic.”

Hugh flinched, quickly covering it with a nod, “Fine. Good. That means a quieter ride.”

Antoine glanced over his shoulder at the empty seats and switched to French, “It’s a much more private ride. We could discuss what the hell is going on with Miss Pauling.”

“That is true,” Hugh started up the car, using his mother tongue as well.

“I wouldn’t say it’s that private,” a third voice piped up in French. Suddenly, a blue clad Spy was leaning over the center console, a blue shroud of a cloak disappearing.

Both men in the front seat were surprised. They shouted out or otherwise screamed their surprise at the appearance of a third Spy. Surely Hugh must have known he was there. He could not have snuck in after Hugh unlocked the doors.

“You didn’t really lock your doors,” the Italian continued using French, “I saw the car and it was quiet, so I came here. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude and break into your car, I just needed to be away f- to be alone for awhile.”

“Good,” Hugh growled, irritably, “Now get out!”

Other trucks already started rolling away. Maurizio shook his head, “Looks like I’m stuck with you both.”

Hugh let out a moan as he started following one of the trucks. Antoine sighed in agreement, not sure he could handle a car ride with this fellow in the back seat. Given his history with making friends though, he wondered if there was anybody else in the car with them.

“Anything else we should know about?” Antoine asked, turning to look at Maurizio.

 

*********************************************************************

 

“No more hitchhikers,” Maurizio assured him, “But, I _am_ interested in discussing the nature of what Pauling is _really_ up to and why she brought so many mercenaries to this fight. Not to mention, how she convinced them to come.”

“And pray tell, why couldn’t we have done all of this at those other bases?” the Spy driving turned to the man in the passenger seat, a bit frustrated.

The passenger flinched away, surprised that this ally and longtime enemy was turning on him, “Theirs was already shut down.” In Maurizio’s opinion, it should not be that difficult to understand.

“They saw us coming?” Maurizio asked, “Or rather her?” He figured that they would have known Miss Pauling was coming to this base, where Maurizio was. But, if it took so long to shut down respawn here, then why did they shut it down so soon at the others.

“No,” the passenger Spy shook his head, fixing his appearance, “She did her best to keep me out of negotiations, but I managed to collect a small amount of information.”

“Do tell,” Maurizio pressed.

The man shot him a glare, “From what I could glean, the handlers had gone rogue. They alerted their whole teams about what was really going on. So, they were taken off of respawn while they were undergoing renegotiations with Mann Co. This was following the updated contracts.”

“The updated contracts?” the driver asked, with surprise, “But that was months – maybe years ago!”

“Not every base got the contract update at the same time,” the passenger added, “Besides, this has been a long process for them. They weren’t automatically taken off of respawn. There were warnings and threats. The handlers probably negotiated amongst themselves about how to handle the situation. In the end, they chose to tell their teammates about what was going on. The negotiations got more heated from there.”

“That sounds like a lot to _glean_ from a conversation,” Maurizio noted, thoughtfully. He wondered just how much of the truth this man was telling.

His question went ignored as the driver spoke up, “In other words, your fears of telling the others were not far off?”

The passenger was quiet. He looked down at his hands, which instinctively pulled out a cigarette, one common pastime among Spies working for Mann Co. He did not speak for a long time, letting silence hang in the car.

“It’s all behind us,” the driver finally said, as if assuring him.

“You were a handler?” Maurizio asked. The man nodded, but otherwise did not respond. “I see,” he went quiet himself, waiting in hopes that they might start talking again.

Neither man spoke for a long time. They did not use the radio either, so it was a long and quiet ride. Maurizio was almost afraid to speak, afraid of the atmosphere that already existed there. He could not imagine that anything he had to say would benefit what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to make this the last story of this series. However, it will not be the last story for these characters. I have not decided yet where their stories will go, but I think I would like this series to end.


	34. Scout's Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout can't really see, but there seems to be some concern regarding his wellbeing.

There were not enough words in the vocabulary to describe how much pain Drake was in. The bumpy ride constantly left him feeling out of sorts, like he could not figure out which way was up or down. He felt dizzy, in the most nauseating way. He was not even sure if he was moving anymore, everything just kept jolting and feeling bad.

“Hang in there,” a big hand patted his head.

“I’m trying,” he attempted to respond in a low pain-filled moan.

“Are you staring at me? Or the ceiling?” the Medic asked.

“What? My eyes are closed!” Scout barked at him.

“No they’re not, you’re staring,” the Medic replied, “Seems your eyes are no longer responsive to light.”

A hand touched his face, moving his head this way and then that. He let it happen, figuring the Medic was taking care of him anyways.

“Doc! Tell me I’m gonna be alright!” Scout begged.

“I’m- Do you want the truth or a lie?” the Medic asked.

“The sugar coated truth!” Scout pleaded.

The Medic sighed, “I don’t know.”

“Dammit, doc!” Scout lifted a hand to rub it across his face. At least he had some feeling left in his body that he could move and feel his hands.

“Try to stay awake for now,” the Medic insisted, “I need to monitor your condition from here.”

Scout sighed, “Considering my eyes are closed, I can’t really tell if I’m gonna fall asleep, or all the sparking pain is gonna get to me.”

“Your eyes are not shut!” Medic barked at him, “I am looking directly at your pupils!”

“I was joking,” Scout rolled his eyes back.

“It’s not funny,” the Medic replied sternly.

A sudden turn whipped his head up, causing his cranium to come down hard on the floor of the truck. He cried out in pain, tears biting his eyes. It hurt so bad, and just reminded him that there was already a wound in his head. Thinking about it, he reached out to touch his head, curious about how big it was.

“Oops!” the Medic exclaimed, before lifting Drake’s head to place a bundle of something soft. A hand gently swatted his hand away, before settling him into his makeshift pillow. “There. That should protect your head from the floor.”

“What are you going to do about the rest of him, doc?” a Texan voice asked.

“He’ll be fine,” the Medic insisted.

“Uh no! I’m not fine!” Drake insisted, wincing at the pain of being jolted.

“Trust me, you’ll be fine,” the Medic insisted, with urgency in his voice.

“I’m not! Look at me! I can’t even look at me!” he proclaimed, with frustration. Another sharp turn caused his body to shift on the truck bed, but this time his head was nestled in the soft cloth, thus protected from whatever metal cars are made of. “Doc, I think I need out of this car,” he begged, feeling tears build up in his eyes. The rest of his body felt like it was mangled.

“Just hang in for a while longer,” was the response.

 

When the vehicles finally did pull to a stop, Drake could feel the sunlight on his face. It was relaxing and warm. Probably most prominently because they had stopped and he was able to relax now. Muscles that he did not know he had tensed finally released that tension. He felt like he was able to finally rest.

Though, he did miss the actual movement of the truck now. It had hurt before, but something about the way vehicles moved so fast had sort of rocked him into a lull in his mind. It reminded him of being a kid, where he could just rest his head on his hand, with his elbow on the door, and stare out at the distant houses and feel the drive lulling him towards sleep.

Now he was under the lull of the sunlight. Its warm rays beamed on his face, bringing him a feeling of life like he could just sleep off all of the hurt. He felt his eyes finally close, and was certain that they were closed this time.

“Scout!” the Medic shouted, and a hand smacked his face.

He let out a cry, which more for the shock than actual pain, “What the hell was that for?”

“Stay awake!” the Medic declared.

“I _am_ awake! Jeez!” Drake rubbed his cheek, relieved to find that his arms did not ache so much anymore. The Medigun had done a lot of work on his body.

“Stay awake,” the Medic commanded, firmly.

“Where are we, anyways?” he asked, as he heard boots moving across the truck and hopping out. There were grunts and the sound of those same boots landing on concrete or cement.

“A gas station,” the Medic said, before his own grunt announced him leaping over the edge of the truck as well. His voice came over the edge of the truck bed, “Just stay put until I get back. I will bring you some water and a snack or something.”

“See if they have any bonk,” Drake smiled, raising a hand to point, if only to stress his eagerness. He could use something to keep him awake.

“I’ll see what they have,” the Medic said, before his footsteps left the vehicle.

Drake sighed and tried to settle into his spot. The ever present torrent of rays reminded him that he was now sleepy. The trucks were not moving anymore, so it would be easier to fall asleep, given his every bone was not begging for him to leap out of the side of the vehicle.

“Scout!” a familiar Soldier’s voice came over the edge of the truck.

The whole vehicle shifted and creaked a little bit. He could only hear it because his head was so close to the metal of the truck itself, listening as it groaned under the new weight. Big boots clunked towards him and the voice came closer to him.

“Are you staring at the sun?” Soldier asked.

“No, I can’t see anything right now,” Drake told him, with a sigh of despair, “But um…it’s okay! Doc says I’ll be fine! I’m sure this is only temporary or something. I’ll probably at full health in a few days. No big deal!”

There was a long silence before the Soldier actually responded, “You look a mighty mess, but I am glad you are okay.”

“Yea,” Drake said, letting his voice trail off. He thought about his words for a moment, before he went on. “Um…I wanted to say…thanks for helping me back there. You really did me a solid. Not many mercenaries like…carry a guy across the field for a Medic or a dispenser.”

“No problem!” the Soldier’s hand clapped his shoulder too roughly.

He winced as the movement in his shoulder caused pain to shoot through his neck and head. He tried not to let on how much pain he was in though. He figure that Soldier was just smiling down at him, completely oblivious to the pain. He was often oblivious, but well meaning.

“It was really cool that you did that though,” Drake insisted.

“I’ve told you before, son,” the Soldier gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, “Never leave a man behind. Or a boy. Or whichever.”

“Hey! I’m a full grown man!” Drake spat, “I’m like in my eighties now!”

“Age doesn’t matter,” Soldier giggled, almost a bit maniacally.

“Yoo hoo! I have the bonk!” the Medic’s familiar voice traveled from a distance beyond the truck.

“Great! Thanks!” Drake called out.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of snacks you liked,” the Medic climbed over the edge of the truck, causing it to shift again, “I did manage to find some interesting chips. Maybe you’ll like those.”

The Texan’s voice followed him over the back of the truck, giggling a bit, “Give him the hot ones!”

“Don’t give him the hot ones,” the Soldier argued.

“What do you mean? I love the hot chips!” Drake lied. There was no way some Texan was going to scare him away from eating some chips just because they were hot.

“Oh…well, those weren’t meant for you,” the Medic said, hesitantly.

“Aww! Come on! Just share a couple!” Drake pleaded, wanting to show the Texas man he could handle a few hot chips.

The Texan chuckled, “A couple’s all a boy could handle.”

Drake frowned, realizing the challenge that was at hand. He was never the type of person to back down from a challenge though. He especially would not back down from a challenge that he was sure he could win.

“Doc, give me a handful,” he lifted his hand, his fingers opened to accept some chips.

Suddenly his hand was swatted away and Soldier barked, “No!”

There was a moment of silence before the Soldier’s boots moved towards the back of the truck. A bag of chips was opened and put into Drake’s hand, but he quickly found by the smell that it was mere corn chips. He could handle these, but he had been expecting to live up to that challenge the Texan had been offering.

“Why are you picking on the Scout?” the Soldier demanded in a soft voice. His voice was just loud enough that Drake could hear him though. “He is injured and not in a position to have his pride trampled on too!” the Soldier went on, “Kicking him while he’s down in a low blow.”

“Aww…I’m sorry,” the Texan raised his voice so Drake could hear him clearly, “I apologize. Doc and I were joking around about hot and spicy foods. He took the bait and I guess I got riled up at giving people a hard time.”

“Hey uh…that’s alright though,” Drake said, dipping a couple of fingers into the bag to dig out some chips.

“He has bigger problems to worry about,” the Medic piped up.

“Like what?” Drake asked, a bit stumped for the moment. There was suddenly a silence and Drake had this sinking feeling in his stomach that maybe the doc knew more about his condition than he let on. Maybe he was not going to be as okay as he had previously hoped. “It’s uh…it’s not like I’m dying or anything. Right, Medic?” he asked uncertainly.

“Of course not,” the Medic replied dismissively, “You’re not going to die!”

“See? I’m not going to die!” Drake said, with a firm nod. He was glad he could manage the smile, otherwise they might have seen the dread in his eyes.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Antoine motioned to the cigarettes behind the man, as he dug out a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. He dropped it on the counter with the water and the corn chips, figuring he could use something in his stomach. Behind him was Hugh, waiting his turn to buy several waters and an armful of snacks.

He had almost laughed when he saw the man picking out the snacks. Aghast at the choices, he almost balked. It was weird to see him interested in junk food to this extent.

Hugh would give off very little, but based on his expression, the snacks were not actually for him. Antoine kept his mouth shut, realizing that he was probably making sure the man he cared about most would have something to snack on, even if he forgot to come in and get himself some of those dry pork rinds.

“I’m not sure they’re as hot as you think they are,” Maxwell was saying as he stepped into the line behind Hugh, with Dooley at his heels.

“They’re pretty intense, doc,” the little Texan chuckled.

“Oh, I need to get something for Scout,” Maxwell exclaimed, suddenly realizing he had forgotten another snack.

“Didn’t he want bonk?” Dooley asked.

“Yes,” Maxwell replied.

“I’ll grab some from the fridge,” Dooley dismissed himself, heading back to the refrigeration area.

Finally, the boy behind the counter handed him the cigarettes and took his money. He counted out his change twice, before finally handing it over. Antoine tucked the cigarettes in a jacket pocket before grabbing the stuff from the counter.

He stepped out of line, turning just in time to see Dooley approach Maxwell. The Medic nodded, but frowned. “I don’t know what he likes though,” Maxwell was saying, “He needs to eat _something_.”

“Treat him to some of those hot chips,” Dooley pointed at the bag the Medic was carrying with a chuckle.

“Ah, yes,” Maxwell rolled his eyes, “Very funny.”

Antoine was about to step away, when Dooley spoke again, “How’s his condition?”

“He’ll live to…never see again,” Maxwell replied, hesitantly.

Antoine turned on his heel and approached Maxwell, “What do you mean _never see again_?”

The two shared a look, before Maxwell answered, “He has stabilized, but the concussion has left his motor skills rather poor. His vision has apparently gone to shit as well.”

“It’s a concussion,” Antoine shrugged, “It’ll heal over time, right?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Maxwell said, with legitimate uncertainty, “He _could_ make a full recovery. But, with the response time his body has had with the medigun under the circumstances of his current injuries, I am beginning to doubt that.”

“I have seen that thing heal eyeballs back into place and regrow teeth,” Antoine argued, insistently.

“Yes, but if you will remember, that usually happens rather quickly,” Maxwell explained, “It’s not that slowing the process down makes it harder to heal. It’s that when the medigun takes longer to heal something, it hints that there is something wrong.”

“Well, is it the medigun?” Antoine suggested, hoping that a switch of the machines might fix the problem.

“But of course! I never thought of that!” Maxwell proclaimed loudly and sarcastically.

“It was not as if the probability of you forgetting two other mediguns existing on the team, along with an assortment of equipment strewn through the vehicles was low,” Antoine said, with irritation.

“Let’s hope I’m wrong,” Maxwell offered, with a hopeful tone of voice. Perhaps he hoped that this would calm Antoine’s frustration and create peace between them. “Let’s hope he makes a full recovery and does _not_ have permanent damage from this. Hmm?”

Antoine nodded, “Yes, let’s.”

He quickly left the gas station, headed towards the trucks. He hesitated to check and see which vehicle the Scout might be in. Of course, it had to be the one the Soldier had just climbed into. He walked over, as quiet as a mouse, and peered over the edge.

Scout was a mangled mess. Most of his wounds had been healed, but there was already some apparent scarring that was not there before. He could see from the bandaging on his legs, arms and chest that the youth had previously been bleeding to death. What was worst of all was the mess of a wound on his head, that had barely even tried to close, despite the medigun still trained on him.

“No, I can’t see anything right now,” Drake was saying, with a frustrated sigh, “But um…it’s okay! Doc says I’ll be fine! I’m sure this is only temporary or something. I’ll probably at full health in a few days. No big deal!”

Soldier looked up at Antoine, both questioningly and with concern. He did not actually say anything for a few moments, as if trying to decipher what was going on with Antoine. Antoine looked back at him, not sure what to say, or if he even wanted his presence to be known.

“You look a mighty mess, but I am glad you are okay,” the Soldier turned back to Drake and offered him a smile, as if he could see.

“Yea,” Drake said, letting his voice trail off. He paused for a moment of thought before he went on, “Um…I wanted to say…thanks for helping me back there. You really did me a solid. Not many mercenaries like…carry a guy across the field for a Medic or a dispenser.”

“No problem!” the Soldier’s hand clapped his shoulder too roughly.

The obvious wince that the boy made caused Antoine to wince. Drake had to be in so much pain. That wound was still fresh looking. The blood had mostly been cleaned from his hair, but it still had this freshness to it that made him want to vomit. Why they had yet bandaged Drake’s cranium was beyond Antoine.

He needed a moment for air. He needed away from this mess. He needed an escape. He panicked and started hurrying away, careful not to let the injured Scout hear him leave. He was just in time to pass Maxwell and Dooley.

“Spy! You know the Scout better than I do,” the Medic piped up, “Do you know what he would like? I got some chips, but I am not sure what he’ll eat.”

Antoine hesitated, before putting the corn chips he bought into Maxwell’s chest, “He’ll eat these. They’re his favorite from baseball practice.”

He walked away without saying another word. It was not like he could eat those after that anyways. He could not get the vivid image of the wound out of his mind. It made him feel utterly sick. And knowing that it was not healing properly on top of other symptoms meant those symptoms might not heal properly.

He had to do something. There had to be some way he could help Drake, but he was not sure how to do that. He was not even schooled in anything more than basic first aid, and the layout of the human body’s most sensitive nerves and arteries. He would not even know where to start with this.

He pulled out the cigarettes he just bought, roughly tearing the package to pull out a cigarette His hands were so shaky when he pulled out the lighter to try and get the tip lit. All of those years of school, and then following years in battles with terrifying men and terrifying circumstances, and this moment of seeing his son like that left him shaking. He could not make his appendages be still.

“Needed a smoke break as-” Hugh’s words cut off as he approached him.

Antoine still had not managed to get his cigarette lit when he turned his head to look at Hugh. He must have been an obvious mess, because the man’s expression changed quite drastically to surprise. Antoine almost dropped the lighter that refused to give away to the spark, as his body began to turn numb, starting with his hands.

Hugh dug into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and putting a flame to his cigarette in one smooth motion. His other hand tapped his new cigarette pack. When the cigarette was lit, he pulled his hand away to put a cigarette in his own mouth and light it.

Antoine turned his face away, staring at nothing in particular. He took deep breaths, inhaling the ashy air laced with cheap tobacco. It was not doing much to help him though. In his panic he needed it, but it was not doing what he needed it to do, as the vision of Drake’s head injury came back to his mind.

His companion was silent as they smoked side by side. Neither of them said a thing, letting that silence drag on with only the sound of their combined breaths. It was at least calming to know that Hugh was there, not as the BLU Spy seeing him at his most vulnerable, but as a friend, silently accepting that he was needed for emotional support.

After a few minutes of just smoking in the company of the other man, Antoine decided to explain himself. This kind of reaction did not come from nothing, after all. At first he was not sure where to start. It was such a simple little thing, but in his mind and his heart it was so much more, and so complex.

Finally, he managed to pick his words, “Drake isn’t okay.”

“I stopped by that truck before I came here,” Hugh replied, “Medic was rewrapping his head. Apparently this gas station had a supply of rubbing alcohol.”

Antoine nodded, mostly to himself. That made sense. Though, it did not make sense that his head went unbandaged, but perhaps the doctor wanted the wound cleaned before possibly stuffing dirt and infections into the wound.

“He can’t see,” he added, “His motor skills have apparently…been damaged…by the head wound.”

Hugh nodded in response, “He’s your son. You’re worried about him.”

“His whole life to live,” Antoine commented, falling into French as he spoke, “He has…so much time. He…he can’t live it like…like _that_.”

Hugh reached over and rubbed his shoulder, “There is a chance though, right? He could recover?”

Antoine nodded jerkily, “A small chance. A minute chance. You saw the wound though. It’s healing slowly under the medigun’s care.”

Hugh sighed and turned his face away. Out of the corner of his eye, Antoine could see his eyes flickering around, searching for something to say or do. Perhaps he was just at a loss for words, or like him, trying to figure out how to fix this.

“He’s going to be okay,” Hugh finally said, “He is going to live! That is a good thing. As hard as it is going to be, he needs you to be strong for him. He needs you to show him that things are going to be okay for him. He’s going to live, and you are going to spend more time with your son.”

Antoine took a very deep breath and straightened his back. It was not in discouragement of Hugh’s words, or boldness against it. Rather, he accepted it. He took it as encouragement to man up in the situation. He paused only to rub his eyes dry with a handkerchief.

“Thank you, my friend,” he nodded to Hugh, finally looking at him for the first time.

Hugh offered him a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder, “Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antoine is best dad. Best Spy dad. I'm not crying, you're crying!


	35. He Will Live, but Will he Be Ok?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of concern surrounding Scout's wellbeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels good to be back on a roll with chapters again. I am going to do my best, but I will not promise to keep having them out everyday.

The road became bleak with fog. The cold settled in and everybody had to change their seating in the vehicles. Most of them had been sitting in the backs of trucks, but now stuffed themselves into the cabs of the trucks together. However, there was one mercenary who could not be stuffed into.

Hugh was the first to approach Maxwell, offering the backseat of his car for the ride. Maxwell’s face lit up and he ran off to grab a blanket and somebody to help him carry the Scout. It was after that that Andrew came over to talk to him.

“There’s uh…no room for me in your car, is there?” he looked disappointed.

Hugh looked over at the car and paused to think, “Maybe. Hold on.”

He walked over to the passenger window where Antoine was sitting. He rolled down the window and gave Hugh a questioning look.

“Think you can handle driving?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. Are you tired?” Antoine responded.

Hugh nodded, “I am going to rest in the Sniper’s camper. Medic is bringing Scout over to lay in the backseat. You’ll be transporting those two.”

Antoine nodded and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, my friend,” he switched to French.

Hugh nodded then returned to Andrew, who was rigidly standing where he was left. He snickered a bit, “We’re going to join Sniper’s vehicle.”

“Better hurry before it gets claimed. He’s barely warding off those other Soldiers,” Andrew pointed to the camper, where Glen was apparently having an argument with both the RED Soldier and the BLU Soldier who came with the teams.

“Don’t worry about that,” he gestured with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ll be over in just a minute. I have to take care of something.”

Andrew nodded before trotting off. Hugh turned and hurried to where Maxwell and a Demoman were lifting the Scout out of the back of an Engineer’s truck. He paused, waiting for Maxwell to climb down to pick the blanket back up again.

“An-” he cut himself off, clearing his throat like there was a tickle, lest he gave away the other Spy’s name, “The other Spy will be driving you.”

“I thought you were driving?” the man blinked at him, then looked over at the car, “Isn’t that your car?”

“Yes, so be nice to her,” he hurried off to Glen’s camper.

At first, Glen and Andrew were nowhere in sight. He opened the side door to find that they were already inside. Glen was in the driver’s seat while Andrew was on the couch. The two were smiling and listening as a blue clad Spy told them some funny story.

“And then the idiot fell down the stairs!” Maurizio finished his line and the two others burst into laughter.

Hugh cautiously stepped inside the camper and shut the door behind himself. He looked around briefly, before Andrew patted the seat next to him. He joined the Soldier on the couch and relaxed there, closing his eyes.

“Planning on bringing anybody else along with ya?” Glen called to him.

“I wasn’t planning on anybody,” Hugh replied loudly.

“You’ve got Soldier back there and Spy up here,” Glen argued.

“Soldier comes with me by default,” Glen argued, “And that…he just snuck into your camper or something. He’s a sneaky pest.”

Maurizio sighed, “It’s true. I needed a better ride, so I snuck in and hid in the back when we went to the gas station.”

“Why were you hiding?” Andrew asked.

“To be honest, I am not really sure,” Maurizio shrugged at him, “It’s not like Sniper’s even that intimidating.”

“I can scare the shit out of you, if I wanted to,” the Sniper growled.

“Don’t start this, Glen!” Hugh called to him.

“Let’s see you be scary,” Maurizio said, with a deadpan expression.

Suddenly, the truck jerked forward. It went up over a bump, sending everybody out of their seats. As it jolted to the ground, the brakes hit. Andrew somehow managed to be mostly stable, but Hugh clung to him, trying not to get flung around.

“Are you trying to kill us?!” he cried out angrily.

Maurizio started laughing and applauding, “Bravo! Bravo! I would call for an encore, but to be honest, all you managed to scare was some friction out of your brakes. Well done on harming your own vehicle for that one.”

Glen grumbled to himself but realized that he could not win it that way. He would probably grumble for a while more, before he quit on being irritated at the Italian Spy. He would not forget all about it though, and it would probably come back later to bite the Italian in the ass. If it did not otherwise cause further stress to Hugh.

 

The rest of the ride was uneventful. The camper followed the other vehicles with ease, as Glen had a good eye. He was also more used to modern civilian roads, making him more competent at maneuvering around civilian drivers.

Hugh simply watched out the window, as fog turned to a drizzling rain. In the distance, a deep rumble of thunder drifted overhead. He listened to the rumble, while he stared at the cars they passed. Every once in a while, a kid would be staring out of the window. Then there was the occasional dog that had its head out the window, with its tongue lolling in the wind. He watched it all go by, passively staring, while leaning against the Soldier.

“How come you’re not driving your car?” Andrew suddenly asked.

Hugh let silence hold for a moment before he spoke, “Scout needed the car. I needed a break. I traded off with the other Spy.”

“Oh,” was the simple reply.

Hugh closed his eyes and let the camper rock him for a while. He felt at ease, almost rocking right to sleep with the motion. The familiarity of Andrew right beside him was a great comfort that kept him right there in that spot.

“Is Scout going to be okay?” Soldier asked him.

He peeled his eyes open to look at Andrew’s face. There was serious concern there for the younger mercenary. Andrew had this look, like he was thinking very hard about something.

“He’ll live,” was his simple answer, before closing his eyes.

“No, I mean…” Andrew’s voice trailed off for a minute as he thought about the Scout, “His head was bashed pretty bad. He wasn’t even using his hands properly. He didn’t seem like himself.”

“He…he might be okay,” Hugh admitted, opening his eyes to look at the wall across from them. Of course Andrew would care about that little Scout. He cared too much about people.

“But, he might not be?” Andrew asked. He could hear the frown in his voice.

“That is also a possibility,” Hugh admitted with a nod, “We are not on respawn, so he cannot reset.”

“And if he scans like that, he-” Andrew’s voice cracked, and he raised a hand to rub his eye.

Hugh sighed, “We’ll be there for him. That’s the best we can do. Right now, he’s with his father and a medical professional. He’ll be okay.”

Andrew was silent for another moment, “His father?”

Another silence. Hugh snapped back into his thoughts with a realization: nobody ever told Andrew who Scout’s real father was. Not that it was really a big deal. But, talking about it now, it seemed that there was something important about Scout to Andrew.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Andrew spoke over him, “Good. He needed his father around. He needs him around a lot.”

There was another silence, while Hugh decided on his words. He wanted to tell him something, maybe console him. Though, he was not entirely sure how to _console_ him in this situation. The situation was not really something of a problem.

“It was the RED Medic all along, wasn’t it?” Andrew suddenly asked.

Hugh burst into laughter, unable to contain himself. He was not even sure if it was meant to be a joke, or if he was just taking it that way. Either way, he enjoyed the comedic element of the question.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Drake listened to the hum of the car and the quiet of the cab. In the front, he could hear the Spy and the Medic exchanging words quietly, every once in a while. His headache prevented him from paying them too much attention for too long. He tried to force himself to sleep.

The Medic said not to do that though. Reminded of that little tidbit of information, considering the claim that he could slip into a coma due to his concussion, he snapped his eyes back open. It was scary to think that he could slip into a coma like that, and the others might as well be none the wiser.

“Scout, are you still awake?” the Medic turned in his seat to look back at him.

“Yea, but I could use sleep,” Drake moaned. He was not sure how long it had been, but it felt like forever. Forever needed to end sometime, didn’t it?

“Don’t whine,” Spy in the driver’s seat said, “You’ll be fine. Just a few more hours…we’ll stop somewhere and you can sleep.”

“Thank God!” Drake sighed.

The Medic turned to the Spy and they exchanged words in some foreign language. It sounded like the Medic was mad at him. Drake could not really care, it was not English so it did not matter so much to him, since he could not understand it.

 

It must have been hours already. Drake was growing impatient as the sun set and the light became dark. The night time hours crept in like a ghost and he felt so restless. He wanted to get out of the car and move. At the same time, he wanted to go to sleep.

He let out an audible groan, “How much loooooonger until we get there?”

“Just a few more hours,” Spy assured him, “Hang in there.”

A soft snore caught his attention and he turned his head towards the source, finding that it came from the Medic. Anger struck him at realizing that the guy who was supposed to be taking care of his health had nodded off. Nobody in the car even thought that maybe that was a little unfair.

“Hey doc!” he reached out, trying to reach the man’s arm or something. He wanted to grab or shake something to wake him up.

“Leave him be,” Spy ordered.

“How come _he_ gets to sleep when I don’t?” Drake scoffed.

“I am not going to last much longer,” Spy assured him, pulling his cigarette from his mouth, “In about an hour or so, I will have to take a break. He’s resting for when his shift for driving comes up. We’ll be traveling through the night.”

“I thought it was just going to be a few more hours?” Scout felt confused by this.

“Just a few more hours,” Spy insisted.

Drake sighed again, “I really want to be out of this car man.”

“Be glad we have it,” Spy replied.

Drake paused, his hands feeling around. There was something familiar about the smell of this car. There was the smell of ash embedded into its seating. It was like he had been there before. It reminded him of Antoine’s car, but they left that vehicle behind in their hurry.

It clicked in his mind, “Hey! Isn’t this the BLU Spy’s car?”

“Yes,” was the simplest reply he could possibly give.

“Uh…where’s _he_ at?” Scout asked. He remembered that Soldier was always hanging around with the Spy, mostly because they were gay lovers. “Soldier too…”

“In another vehicle,” Antoine responded, “He graciously gave up his car for your wellbeing.”

“Oh,” he did not feel thankful or anything, though it was nice that the BLU Spy was being nice to him for once, “Cool.” He did not think the BLU Spy cared any more than he ever had before, he was just being considerate for their circumstances.

“Anyways,” Antoine went on, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine…I guess,” Drake shrugged.

“Is your head feeling any better?” Antoine pressed.

“You don’t have to force small talk, Spy,” he said a bit sternly, “We already did the getting over our past thing. We’re already pals, I think. So, you don’t have to do this.”

“But I do,” Antoine argued, “We both need to stay awake, and talking might help with that.”

Drake sighed at the response. He was definitely right. Drake might fall asleep at any given moment. Riding in this car was rocking him off to dreamland, and he really wanted to go.

“How’ve you been, anyways?” he asked in response.

He could practically hear the smug little smile, “I have been fine, thank you.”

“Listen to any good music lately?” he asked.

“No,” was the curt response.

“What about movies? Any good movies lately?” he pressed, digging out the things he used to talk about with friends.

“Also no,” was the next curt response, “Try again.”

Drake sighed as he thought about his options. He could not talk to Spy like he talked to old friends. He had to talk to him like a mercenary talks to a mercenary. He did not often talk to Spies though. Maurice was an exception, but he could talk about cool cars and going really fast with Maurice.

“Stabbed any good backs lately?” he finally asked.

Laughter responded and he let himself have a little chuckle. When the laughter died down, Antoine said, “Well, there _was_ that Soldier.”

“Right, right,” Drake chuckled awkwardly, “Had fun then, I assume?”

“Oui,” Antoine replied in his chuckling, “Beat any good heads in lately?”

Drake chuckled a bit, “Well…I almost had the Soldier. But the guy has a big fighting arm. Like, I don’t think any other Soldier hits like that. Like, this guy was a body builder or some shit. I think he works out overtime. Like, he doesn’t even eat and sleep. He just exercises nonstop.”

“How would he have so much muscle if he doesn’t eat or sleep? Those are important things,” Antoine argued, with a slightly playful tone, “Your mother was not making things up when she force fed you broccoli and made you go to bed when you did not want to.”

“Yea I…guess you’re right about that one,” he admitted. He took a deep breath, wishing he could actually look at Antoine to see his expressions. “Maybe he takes a lot of those drugs? You know, those drugs that make guys all strong. Like that one baseball player guy…what’s his name?”

“I don’t know baseball players,” Antoine replied.

“I guess it’s more recent,” he sighed, “I like watching baseball again. It’s fun.” There were a few moments of silence and then Antoine cleared his throat. “You okay up there, pal?” he asked, unsure of what might be going on, since he could not see.

“Y-yes, everything is fine,” there was an ever so slight hint in Antoine’s voice that made him wince. Antoine was usually good at lying, so why was he being bad at lying.

“You tired or something?” he asked, figuring maybe the drive was a bit too much and his exhaustion was getting to him.

“No no,” Antoine replied, “Maybe I…I just need a smoke.”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Maxwell listened carefully, but did not let on that he had been awake. The voices, especially Scout’s attempt to wake him, had brought him out of his slumber. He kept his breathing slow and even and stayed as he was, hoping they might assume he was still asleep and let him drift off.

However, he became intensely intrigued by this conversation between the energetically annoying ex-enemy and his long time secret wrapped up in mystery coworker. He knew the man to be fairly passive in his expressions, and kept his distance. He did not cry, he did not smile, he rarely frowned. In fact, irritation was usually the only expression he seemed to show, acting bitter and bitchy about everything, as far as Maxwell could tell.

Here though, talking to the younger man, there was something rawer. There was something important about the youth that had not escaped Maxwell in the past. They had been angrily shouting at each other, screaming at each other even, when they were enemies. Now they were two men who found each other to be very important in their lives.

Before it just seemed like the Scout had found something in the Spy he liked. The Scout was younger, naïve in a way. He could easily be manipulated by the master of manipulation himself. So, it had made sense that the boy was frantic when the Spy took a concussion.

The reverse was an entirely different story though. This was something deeper, as far as Maxwell could tell, and he wished he knew more. He wished he knew their backstory. He wished he knew why they talked like this together. He wished he had been there to understand why Spy’s eyes were watering, why he suddenly bit his lip, why he gagged on a sob when Scout brought up watching baseball on television. Spy was broken up by Scout’s condition.

Spy lit up a cigarette hurriedly, then rolled his window down a bit. His hand was shaking, unable to remain steady. At least the hand on the wheel seemed to remain fairly steady in its grip, or else Maxwell would have panicked.

“I didn’t think about this before, but could you imagine if they brought together like…a whole bunch of teams? Like, imagine several dozen Scouts,” the Scout was yammering.

Spy put on his best deadpan tone, that same bitter irritation that usually sat on his words, “I would rather not think of such a thing.”

“That would be pretty awesome though,” the Scout went on, “Price and I used to play catch when he was around…before he died and all. But, if we had a whole bunch of Scouts…man that would be awesome!”

“You could play a game of baseball with that many Scouts,” the Spy noted.

“Yea! That would be my exact reasoning for having that many Scouts!” he went on.

“What if they did not like baseball?” the Spy asked.

“Pfft! Don’t be silly! Who doesn’t like baseball?” Scout asked, laughing.

There was a momentary silence. Maxwell thought he was going to respond with something usual. Some roll of the eyes with a demeaning note on the boy’s ignorance or stupidity.

Instead, he said, “I don’t know.”

“Heh…oh hey! I got doc to stop snoring!” Scout laughed.

The doctor quickly shut his eyes and resumed pretending to sleep. He hoped that the Spy had not seen his eyes open at any point. He was probably not supposed to hear them getting along, or see any of Spy’s reactions.

He heard the Frenchman mutter out an expletive in his mother tongue, before taking a deep inhale of his cigarette.

 

When the car pulled over for them to switch places, Antoine stopped him in front of the car. “Whatever you heard or saw in there, it stays in silence,” he said, with a threatening tone.

He knew not to press Spy too hard, he could deliver on even the vaguest of threats. Still, he felt like he had to say something, “There is no need to hide from your own team, you know.”

“Hide what?” the Spy’s eyes narrowed a bit.

“Any of this,” he replied, “Being emotional. Being caring. Knowing that you are human like that would help others on this team to care about you too, you know. It would really help them get along with you.”

The Spy did not say anything at first. He tossed his cigarette onto the ground and rubbed it with the sole of his shoe. He took out another one and lit it up, taking a slow puff before saying anything.

“As the man of espionage, my job is not to keep other mercenaries happy and friendly,” the Spy explained, “My job requires that certain secrets remain as they are: secret. My point is that I will keep that secret in any way that I have to.”

The threat felt benign in a sense. Looking back only the day before, Max had tried to kill himself. The Spy trying to off him seemed hardly any different, hardly a threat at all.

“Considering your recent actions, it would be easy to make it look like a suicide,” the Spy went on.

“I’m not threatened by your words,” Maxwell said, pointedly, “Nor am I afraid of death. I won’t…tell anybody. I am not out to harm you. I am just pointing out that what you are and what people perceive are very different things. And if you’re even hiding that from him, I don’t think he’ll full understand how much you care.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Spy said sternly, “Keep your mouth shut about this.”

“My lips are sealed,” Maxwell nodded to him.

Without another word the Spy passed him, so he made his way to the driver’s side door. He climbed in and started adjusting everything to his size. Spy’s legs were long, but Maxwell was generally a bigger man.

“Ah, hey doc,” Scout said with a chuckle, “Have a nice nap?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you, Scout,” he lied. He put the car into gear and listened to the engine as it started off again, following the others’ paths. All the while, he had a lot to think about, his mind trying to unravel the mystery of Spy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am going to start switching away from the sad stuff soon, I promise. I just got sucked into all the drama of people caring about Scout. Like damn, kid's annoying but he's got a pseudo dad and his biological father. Not to mention people associated to them (mostly Hugh).
> 
> Edit: I am not going on hiatus or anything. It is just going to be awhile before I post. Due to the pacing of the next segment, I will be writing some more chapters before I post. It'll be at a pace where I need to go back and comb through to make sure elements are neat and tidy.


	36. The Cameras!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The robot is being controlled.

The truck rolled to a stop and Maurizio put a hand on the glove box as the momentum caused him to lean forward. There was something big in the road. It was huge, but it looked dead. At least, it seemed like some sort of animal. It had to be an animal, because it had this lumpy consistency that was unlike a tree trunk.

“I’ll go take a look,” the Sniper said, putting the truck in park as he climbed out.

Maurizio climbed out after him, driven by sheer curiosity. He followed at the Sniper’s side, all the way to the big dark lump. Thunder rumbled overhead, and the air crackled with life, announcing that lightning was on its way.

“We need to move this quickly,” he noted.

“The hell? Where did this come from?” the Sniper gave the thing a kick and his leather boot hit metal.

Maurizio bent for a closer look, pulling out a flashlight he had found in Bleu’s pocket some time ago. His light immediately fell upon the sharp edges of metal and a label that said, “Property of Grey Mann of Mann Co.”

“What the hell?” the Sniper exclaimed, taking a step back, “What’s this thing doing all the way out here?”

“What’s the holdup guys?” Miss Pauling came running, trailed by a few others mercenaries from the trucks following them.

“We have a road blockage,” Maurizio explained.

“Mann Co’s bots,” Glenn said, pointing at the lump of metal.

Suddenly, a machine started up. He suspected a truck and ignored it at first. Then, metal brushed his hand and he turned to see the metal rising. He pulled his hand away, taking careful steps backwards, as a behemoth of metal rose above them. Its eyes lit up and its hands took hold of the gun it had been hiding under its massive body.

“Run! Run! Run!” Maurizio shouted, rushing for the truck, “Let’s go! Get in!”

“My rifle!” the Sniper barked.

Several gunshots went off, the flashes causing Maurizio to duck in fear. The Soldier and other Spy came barreling out of the side door of the truck. The Soldier was already armed with a bazooka, and the Spy tossed a sniper rifle to the driver.

“Thanks pal!” the Sniper called to him, as he turned to load his gun.

Maurizio quickly patted down his suit, looking for a weapon. He found a very small, short barreled pistol. It was a pathetic looking thing that could never stand up to the might of such a terrible metal beast. But of course, there would be no better weapons in his artillery to use.

He turned and fired shots as he ran backwards. He headed to the other trucks, in hopes of finding a better gun. When he was clear of the monster, he ran faster, and started searching the backs of each vehicle.

Grenade launchers, bazookas, dispensers, wrenches, nuts, bolts, syringe guns, mediguns, miniguns and plenty of ammunition was scattered throughout the trucks. It seemed that there was nothing a Spy could reasonably use against a behemoth made of metal.

The cries and shouts from where the machine was called to him. They were all there fighting. Meanwhile, he was back here like a coward, searching for something he actually knew how to use.

“Move! Move!” a Frenchman cried out. He turned to see the RED Spy running past him with a Medic on his tail.

“I have no weapon!” he exclaimed.

“Take a grenade launcher! Or a shotgun! I don’t care! Just move!” the Spy shouted, hurrying up the street towards the beast, who had yet to rev up its gun.

He leaped off of the side of a truck, heading towards the other to check in its back. Behind this truck was the blue car, the one the other Spy drove. No idea why _his red machine of speed and power_ had not been brought along.

He turned his attention to the truck. He had little time to find a weapon. He needed something to fight a giant robot.

Suddenly, lights hit the street. These were not street lights, not in any way average either. They were spotlights, the kind you use to brighten a room severely. They were piercing his eyes and bringing attention to just how dark it was, especially with the clouds looming overhead.

“Mission begins in sixty seconds,” the familiar croon of an old woman came over a loud speaker that Maurice had not known was there. No wonder the machine had yet to fight back, since it had to wait sixty seconds to start.

“Fuck!” he breathed, leaping down from the second truck. There was no time for waiting, he had to get to the front, even if it was just with a dinky little pistol.

He rushed back to the front, where the others were already trying to take out the behemoth. It did not even seem to take damage. It was like it was invincible, or not even there. Nonsense, he thought. That thing had touched him at one point. He knew for sure that it was real and that it was made of cold metal.

“Mission begins in thirty seconds!” the Administrator’s voice told them over those loud speakers.

“It’s a trap,” a Medic said loudly.

“Everybody into the trucks! We’ll turn around and get out of here,” Pauling motioned to them.

“Turning my truck around is gonna take more than thirty seconds, miss!” the Sniper who drove the camper van said, a bit frantically.

“There’s no time!” a Spy cried out.

“We must face them or die running,” the other Spy added.

“Tonight, we die like men!” a Soldier raised his shovel over his head. Others among his team and the other responded with cheers as they doubled their efforts against the monster.

“Does anybody have a revolver?” Maurizio asked loudly, hoping somebody might hear him and offer him a weapon.

“Right here, _amico_ ,” a hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him.

He was surprised to see black gloves and his own red suit. He looked at Bleu, who was handing him the ivory handle of a beautifully carved revolver. No idea where he got it from, but he was sure it had not belonged to him.

“Thank you,” he nodded to him as he accepted the revolver, checking to make sure it was loaded.

“Not a whole lot it will do against this thing,” Bleu said to him.

“It’s better than holding nothing,” Maurizio insisted.

“Very well then,” Bleu nodded, taking a deep breath, “You should probably say goodbye though…to friends I mean.”

“I will when you do!” Maurizio laughed, mostly trying to push down the growing dread, “That’s just asking for us to fail! I won’t accept failure! And neither will the Soldiers, mind you.”

“Still, I must say goodbye to my last friend,” Bleu said, shifting uneasily.

“If you must then,” Maurizio said dismissively.

Suddenly, his hand was gripped and then he was wrapped in arms. He held still, tensing ever so slightly, as he was wrapped up in an embrace of two arms. The familiar touch and the smell he knew so well drew up feelings that made his eyes sting. He closed his eyes as he swallowed back the lump in his throat. Curse this man for making him feel that again.

The speakers crackled and there was a bit of feedback as she spoke again, “Mission begins in ten seconds.”

“I’m sorry,” Bleu whispered.

Maurizio sighed, wishing he had just let go of certain things sooner. He could try and be mad all he liked, but having a hug from Bleu again, that meant so much. He wished he could have that again.

“Ten seconds and then we die together,” Maurizio held back the tears that wanted to force their way out.

“Is that a…camera?” Bleu suddenly whispered.

Taken aback, he stepped out of Bleu’s hug and turned to see what he was looking at. Up by one of the speakers was indeed a little black camera. Its lens gently refracted some of the light, catching their attentions by chance.

“Do you know what this means?” anger build up in Bleu’s voice.

“What?” he looked over at the frustrated man.

“They’re _using_ this for their show! They’re going to show our deaths to the world for a profit!” Bleu clenched his hands into fists.

Maurizio glanced over at the behemoth, shaking as it waited to begin the match. “Five,” the woman started. He noticed that it still had yet to respond to anything anybody was doing to it.

“Four.” There was no way anybody could have known they were coming. What counted for eyes on the monster had been hidden before, meaning it could not have seen them.

“Three.” He looked back at the camera, seeing its trained lens looking over the desperate mercenaries. There was no question in his mind what it was for.

“Two.” Glancing at the other speakers within his sight, he noticed more cameras. They were taking in different angles, just as Bleu had said, but they were all very high angles.

“One.” They were not strategically placed for a good view of the kind of deaths that would come from a giant deadly machine against a bunch of men with weapons.

The machine started to rumble louder and immediately lashed out. Maurizio watched as a Demoman and a Soldier went flying through the air. The others screamed and ran for cover, not wanting to get immediately batted through the air like flies.

The machine swung its gun around and started firing. Maurizio took Bleu’s hand and ran, pulling him out of the way. They were going to be mowed down like grass if they got back out where they could fight it. Still, there was also no possibility that the thing had an endless supply of bullets. They just had to wait for it to run out.

“I think, I think we made it clear,” Bleu was patting himself down, panting heavily with fear.

“I don’t think they’re going to broadcast our deaths,” Maurizio replied.

“What?” Bleu looked at him with disbelief.

“None of these cameras are low, where somebody could get squashed by a robot foot,” he replied, “They are up high.”

“They were short on time,” Bleu said angrily and dismissively, “They probably put up what they could in a limited amount of time.”

“I don’t think so,” Maurizio raised his head to watch as some others charged into a fray of battle.

*********************************************************************

Andrew was amazed when he got thrown back with Demoman. He landed on the ground and groaned at the pain in his back. He tried to call out for a Medic, but he could not find the air.

He forced himself to his feet and grabbed his bazooka. He loaded it up and fired all shots at the robot, but just as before it was ineffective. The robot did not even flinch at being hit.

“Dammit!” he exclaimed, throwing his bazooka aside. He needed something stronger than a bazooka.

“Every bone in my body’s broke!” he heard the Demoman groan.

“Quit whining, maggot!” he called out, mostly out of instinct.

“I don’t think I got the fight left in me,” the Demoman was practically crying.

“Dammit! This is not the time for-” he cut off as he heard the robot’s gun rev up.

Before it could shoot, he scrambled for cover, grabbing the Demoman as he went. He pulled the man down where they would not get shot, somewhere behind the brush, and laid down. The bullets passed them, zooming loudly with whirs through the air. Every moment of the bullet shower felt like an eternity of hiding from death.

“I don’t think I can fight any longer,” the Demoman sniffled.

“Pull yourself together!” he grabbed the man by his shoulders, right at the base of the neck, and shook him roughly.

The click click click announced that the gun was empty and every man leaped from cover. At least, whoever could still move got up and ran. The others were under the Medics’ care. All three Medics seemed to be too busy handling the previously injured, those who did not manage to get away from the bullets before they rained down on them. They did not have time to move to the front to help those who were still standing.

Andrew moved with them, charging out to join the other Soldiers as they assaulted the robot from all sides. They worked together at trying to bash the robot’s head in. Then they tried breaking an arm off. Then they tried breaking its leg.

It was unaffected. It went about reloading the gun, as if nothing was happening. It was completely unaffected by anything and everything they tried. None of the battering with shovels work. Shotguns did not work. Not even the bazookas worked.

He was about to give up when he saw Dooley setting up a dispenser. He retreated back to reload his weapons and heal up for another attempt. He was sure it would rev up that gun as soon as it was done reloading too.

“Solly, you doing alright? You hurt?” Dooley asked, with desperate concern.

“I’m fine,” he nodded to Dooley.

The first shot from the revving gun went straight towards the closest assailants. Most fled the scene, so its first target was the sentry gun.

“Sentry down!” Dooley shot at the beast, not even caring that the gun was swinging his way.

“Engie!” Andrew grabbed him by the waist and dove into the undergrowth of the forest, alongside the road.

They rolled across the leaves as bullets sped through the air. The whipping sound made Andrew feel a bit shaky. He took a breath though, and shoved the Engineer behind a tree, where they were protected by a thick wooden trunk from the onslaught of bullets.

“That was a close one!” the Engineer exclaimed with a breath of relief, “Thanks, Sol!”

“You should watch your back more careful,” the Soldier warned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Dooley nodded to him. He started reloading his shotgun.

Andrew turned to see the glint of a gun. He was startled by it at first, then recognized the lean figure of a Spy. He was leaning out into the open too soon, the gun had not stopped shooting bullets yet.

“Spy, get down!” he ran towards him. He could have sworn the gun turned to follow him as he slammed Maurice to the ground.

“Soldier!” two Spies exclaimed.

“Ohhh…” Andrew groaned beneath the sudden intrusion in his side. One hand went to the bleeding wound, and under he could feel a giant bullet. This thing was not messing around, it had a reel of giant bullets in its arsenal.

“We can’t fight this thing,” Andrew groaned as he rolled off of Maurice onto his back, “Stay out of sight when it’s shooting. Wait until it starts reloading.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, amico!” Maurice exclaimed, as he hurriedly ripped his own suit jacket off and began making a body bandage out of it.

*********************************************************************

Maurizio hurriedly wrapped the Soldier in the jacket. He could practically feel the burning embers of anger in the back of his head. Bleu would get over it. Besides, they were apparently prolonging the inevitable in Bleu’s opinion.

“Watch him,” he said as he heard the click click click of the beast’s gun, “I am going to check something.”

He raised his revolver and started off, just as Dooley came running over to set up a dispenser for the Soldier. Relieved that his friend would have the medical care he needed, he made his way through the forest trees, staying out of the robot’s line of sight. He was angled to run right behind it, and as he sprinted from the trees he turned on the invis watch.

He looked around the back of the behemoth, figuring he should be safe here, but the thing spun around. It did not just stop there though, as it started swinging with one fist, unable to fire its weapon at the moment.

With an outcry of alarm, Maurizio ducked out of the way and darted to safety. He did not stop running until he was to safety, listening to the others as they charged in for another attack. He breathed heavily, trying to calm his lungs before he had a heart attack.

“How did it see me?” he asked himself, shaking his head, “It could not see me!”

He peered around the tree, looking up at the lights. Up there were the cameras. Up there were the eyes that let the Administration intervene in any way they wanted.

He turned on his invis watch and ran across the battlefield again, making his way back to where he had started. He slid to a stop by Dooley’s dispenser, leaning against it as he panted heavily.

“It saw me! It…it didn’t see me… _they_ saw me!” he tried to explain.

“How did it see you?” Bleu demanded, “ _I_ did not even see where you went, much less where you disappeared to!”

“Robots can’t do that,” Dooley shook his head, “No photo receptors on the back.”

“I know that,” Maurizio nodded, “It didn’t see me. They saw me!”

“They? Who is they?” Soldier asked.

“Wait…they? They saw you?” Bleu looked up at the cameras curiously, “It would make sense that they are watching, but how would they be able to pull that off? The reaction time on that thing to get a warning would have to be in the milliseconds!”

“Even less,” Dooley shook his head, “Maybe it ain’t a natural robot we’re up against.”

“Robots aren’t natural,” Bleu argued.

“Shush,” Maurizio hushed him.

“Perhaps that thing’s a tank because it doesn’t need AI. It’s driven,” Dooley explained, “Take out the learning capacitors, and the automated lines recorder, along with all of those cameras and extra bits, and you have plenty of space to make a tank out of the thing.”

“Driven?” Soldier looked like he was lost.

“If they are using the cameras to drive this thing,” Maurizio cut in, “Then it is the cameras we need to be taking down!”

“Only way to find out is to take the cameras down!” Dooley answered.

Suddenly, the whirring of the gun caught their ears. They ducked behind the trees and waited as the thing started firing in every direction it thought it needed to. It seemed to just have an endless supply of ammunition.

“Listen!” Maurizio called to Bleu over the noise, “I know this is hard, but I need you to do a couple things for me.”

“What?” Bleu looked at him confusedly.

“Just…just get Andrew out of this fight. This mess is bad,” Maurizio motioned to the Soldier, who was hiding with Dooley, “And when you all get out of here, make sure that Drake…the Scout…make sure he gets help. Make sure he’ll be okay. Make sure there’s always somebody to make him feel better. He can’t live like he is and not have friends.”

“You’re talking like a man on his death bed,” Bleu said, a bit crossly.

“I know,” Maurizio nodded, “There is a short chance of getting up the pole and disarming the cameras. I can do it quickly, but there is a chance they will aim the behemoth for me.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Bleu exclaimed.

“Probably,” Maurizio pecked the man’s lip, just to further throw him off, “But…aren’t I usually?”

He turned and ran, darting to the next tree. He needed to get as close to his first target as possible, so that the moment the gun stopped firing he could throw himself up that pole and take the camera down. He waited, watching the behemoth until he heard the first click. He did not hesitate, he just threw himself forward the way Scout would, charging up the pole to yank out the wires of the camera.

Nearby, he heard the Soldier’s bazooka, but it did not hit the robot. He landed on his feet and ran for cover. He turned just in time to see that the American was trying to aim a bazooka at the camera on the pole. Nearby him, the Engineer was trying to shoot another with his shotgun. Suffice to say, they were not doing a very good job, since these cameras were meant to deal with the power of bullets pelting them, but not with a Spy meddling with them.

“Take cover!” he called out, already ready with the countdown in his head for when the beast would start shooting again.

He did as he was told, not even second guessing. The machine was already revving up, prepared to fire. Maurizio rolled out of the way, hiding into some brush.

“The hell are you idiots doing?” an Australian voice took him by surprise.

He looked over to see that he had rolled into the hiding place of the Sniper who had driven him here, “It’s AI is remote controlled!”

“What?” the Sniper looked utterly confused.

He sighed, “The cameras! The cameras! They are telling it where to shoot!”

The Sniper nodded and rolled away. He did not know where he went, unable to see much in the dark of the brush. However, he did not have the time to ponder it, as he heard the revving stop and the machine begin to reload.

He cursed himself with some expletives in his mother tongue as he took to running again. He put all of the force into his legs as he bounded up the poles. He was not sure what had gotten into him to make him feel so spry that he could throw himself up a pole. It was a pretty good feeling, whatever it was. It made him feel more alive than he had in a long time.

He reached over and grabbed the wires. His arm was poised to yank back when a shock of electricity hurtled through his body. For a moment, he was shocked, too stunned to understand what had just happened to him. Then, he was grabbing for something to hold himself up on the pole, as he began his descent. He screamed for help, as the blinding lights overhead made him feel like he was falling into the dark depths of hell.


	37. Panic, Poles, and Scoutbots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bots!

The panic set in when Maurizio disappeared. They heard him scream and they saw him begin to fall, but Bleu just sort of shut it out for a moment. The fool had played the dangerous game, and gambled his best cards. Of course they would have a failsafe for Spies, why did they not think that the Spies would try something before? Perhaps it was a sort of cockiness on behalf of the Administration. Perhaps they believed that their power at the bases, keeping even Spies at bay from the cameras, extended beyond those areas.

What right did they have to do this? What right did they have over them. Bleu felt a choked sob strike him as he remembered how many times he had debated this with himself. They had groomed him, struck him with hot iron rods, and given him no options other than submission if he were to protect Maurizio.

He closed his eyes as he took cover, the sound of bullets whirring by their heads. He laid on the ground, out of sight from cameras and the machine. He buried his face against the leaves and let the sobs leave him.

He had fought so hard for that right, just that right to fight back. They gave him brainwashing tactics, torture tactics, and even attempted to erase him. Then they found the one thing that he cared about the most, and tickled the cautious part of his mind that would snap if he let go.

“Get up!” Dooley shook his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He did not bother to wipe away the tears as he scrambled to his feet and rushed out into the fray. They were all still fighting, but Dooley and Andrew were both trying to shoot the cameras. Surely Dooley realized that shooting would do no good whatsoever. All that was left was to pray for a miracle.

“Take down the poles lads!” Forbes suddenly joined Dooley and Andrew, “Let’s focus! Take down a pole, you take down the camera. Knock it down!”

Suddenly, the miracle seemed to strike, and they were working together on a pole. It fell and they rushed to another. It was halfway to falling before they had to flee the machine again.

Dooley put a hand on his shoulder as they hid, “Réne, we need a better strategy. Got any ideas?”

“A saw,” he suggested, with the first thing on the top of his mind.

“Got some in the trucks,” Dooley thought aloud.

“I’ll see what we have,” he nodded, “You keep at the cameras.”

As the revving stopped again, he ran. He was not fast like a Scout, but he did his best. Too bad his best was only as good as a smoker’s lungs. He ran out of air halfway there, and had to slow down to breathe. He barely kept jogging on his way to the trucks.

He clambered over the edge of a truck and started digging around. It was hard to see in the dark, so he reached for his flashlight. That was when he realized that he did not have a flashlight, he had Maurizio’s suit. It was red with his team color, with his smell still lingering in the lining.

He took a breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand, searching through the rubbish for a usable saw. Having several saws would be best. Maybe amongst the doctors’ tools, he might find some bone saws.

The clunk clunk clunk of metal caught his attention and he started. He turned to look around, though was surprised to see only a couple of Scoutbots. They were big though – humongous even. He watched with pure terror as they approached the trucks. They shook them, tilted them, and looked under them. Frightened, he fled from the truck he was in and slipped into the brush, not wanting to be shaken or otherwise found.

They moved slowly with big clunky steps, but there was something more terrifying about them than a regular Scoutbot. They were slow, laboring slowly along as if every step had to be very deliberate. However, their movement and their strength made them a force to be reckoned with. They might as well have been regular Heavybots. Why they were not just regular Heavybots was beyond him though.

Suddenly, they found the blue car. They shook it. They looked under it. They found nothing there, but they heard something inside. So, their fists crashed it and smashed it. Glass shattered and they tore out a door. An arm reached in to search around, but they had taken off the front passenger door.

With a big gaping hole in the car, he could hear the screaming. Scout was in there, injured and apparently unable to defend himself. Bleu watched with horrified awe as they tried to reach their prey.

A few shots went off. Good, the youth was armed with a shotgun. To much dismay, these shots did no good. One seemed to go through the roof. The other likely went right past the robots. He seemed to have no aim, or perhaps a weak arm trying to hold up the gun.

He reached for his pistol, feeling shaken and powerless. It was a pathetic weapon and would do little to even a regular Scoutbot. These things would be irritated, then they would give chase. While their lumbering steps may have hinted at incapability, perhaps it was hiding their true speed. And he could not even outrun a regular Scoutbot. He bit his lip, feeling guilty cowardice overwhelming him.

“It’s not Maurizio,” he reasoned with himself in a whisper, “It’s not him. I don’t need to worry about it. We can’t all survive this.”

*********************************************************************

If they did not hear the metal footsteps from behind, they heard the shaking and battering of the trucks. It took Antoine not a moment to think about, and not a moment more to react. He grabbed a few others’ attentions.

“Laborer, with me! We have to protect the trucks! Heavy, Demoman, Soldier! Come help fight!” they all turned and ran back towards the trucks.

He was terrified, but hopeful. That was, until he saw the two giant Scoutbots at his car. They had already torn out a front door, but now they had torn out the one behind it. Inside he could hear the frightened screams of his son as one reached in to grab him.

He ran harder. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Suddenly, water was hitting his face. The wind was beating against him. The thunder was pounding like his heart.

He pulled his pistol out. He watched and screamed as they raised Drake from the vehicle. It lifted him by his head, while his arms tried to pull away, and his feet flailed wildly. He was screaming through the metal, desperate to escape.

Antoine set off a shot, hitting the Scoutbot’s eye. That was enough to pull its attention away from its next action. It still did not drop him though.

Shots fired past him, as the other Scoutbot lumbered towards them. He dodged aside and made his way towards his son. The Scoutbot put a hand on Drake’s shoulder, taking a firm hold of his upper body.

“Nooo!” he screamed, using the car as a boost as he leaped onto the Scout.

He slipped the sapper from his pocket, a handy tool he had slipped from a base earlier, and slapped it onto the bot. It sparked at first. The robot dropped Drake, freeing up its hands. It grabbed him instead.

He let out a terrified screech as the robot grabbed his legs. He saw the sapper fall, before it flung him around. It took one leg, releasing the other, so it could twist his foot, then tweak his leg. He screamed in pain as the bones in his calf were snapped clean in half. It flung him around by this wounded leg, flopping him into the cement.

His teeth must have been broken. His face was already throbbing from the strike to the pavement. Even so, he could hear the broken sobs nearby.

“Drake,” he opened his eyes to see that he had landed next to the boy. His eyes looked around in terror, seeing absolutely nothing. “Drake,” he tried to calm him, to assure him.

Suddenly, a metal foot came down on top of him. It did not smash him, just pushing him back down onto the pavement. He could tell from the weight of it, it could crush its head.

This was it. This was how he was going to die. If nothing else, he bought his son more time to get help from the others. He reached out, putting a hand on Drake’s arm. He closed his eyes as terrified tears fell. He squeezed the arm he was holding, feeling the pressure grow slowly immense as the robot began to smash him like a grape.

He did not hear the explosions. His head hurt too much for that. He did not even hear the gunshots or shouts. He heard nothing for a while, as the tension suddenly released, feeling ever so painful at the sudden removal of pressure. He did not count his eggs just yet, turning his head to look. The robot slowly fell backwards, then gained momentum as it came down hard upon the pavement.

He was alive. Drake was alive. They survived and the giant Scoutbots were down.

This time, he heard the cheering. He heard the rev of the machine off in the distance. He stayed low, and he pulled Drake down when he tried to get up.

“Stay down,” he growled. He squeezed the arm again, new tears springing to life as he realized he might hug his son again.

He wasted no time in getting them somewhere safer. With his guidance, the two of them crawled around a truck and sidled up to a dispenser that was left there. It did the trick to heal his leg, with a huge relief for him. It still left the question as to why it had yet to heal Drake’s ailments.

“That robot is stationary,” a Demoman said, crouching behind a truck, “It doesn’t move. I say _we_ move!”

“And how much time do you bloody reckon we have for that?” a Sniper exclaimed

“We have to…to take down the cameras,” the Spy called Réne appeared. He had this terrified look on his face, like he was riddled with guilt, or just saw the most traumatic thing in his life.

“What about the Scout?” a Demoman asked.

“Boy can’t fight!” a Sniper replied.

Antoine took a breath as the revving stopped and the click click of an empty gun caught his attention. He began grabbing Drake, and then scooping him off of the ground. He did his best to carry him. It was difficult, because he was _not_ that strong, but he figured that he could manage.

“Let me help!” a thick set of arms began peeling Drake from his grip. He was hesitant at first, not wanting to give up his son, but immediately realized that he needed to let go.

He looked at the Soldier’s face and watched as the man easily hoisted Drake into his arms. “Let’s move!” the Soldier barked, turning to dart into the trees. He turned to follow, mostly not wanting to be left behind.

He watched where the Soldier put Drake, hiding him beside a tree with some brush and a branch covered in dead leaves. He took note of his surroundings, to take in all of the landmarks. If anything happened, he had to know where to come back to.

“Stay put and stay quiet, son,” the Soldier told Drake, before covering him completely.

Antoine followed the man out of the trees, only to duck into hiding again as the bullets leaped. He had this numb feeling in his chest that was not going away. It felt rather strange to see some other mercenary be like a father to his son that way. That was _his_ son, not the Soldier’s. Why was he acting like this?

Jealousy seethed, but he denied that it existed. He was just irritated that the Soldier had not trusted him to take care of Drake’s wellbeing. Surely the man knew that he was fully capable to tending to his own son.

Still, the next step seemed to be finish whatever the others were doing. They were taking down the cameras. There was not a specification, only the message passed to everybody else that they had to destroy those cameras. Why they had not told everybody this from the start was beyond him. As long as it stopped the machines though, he figured it was worth a shot.

He grunted as he tripped and stumbled. He landed face first in the leaves, then turned over to brush off the dirt and such from his suit. His eyes landed upon the thing he tripped over, a still body. He recognized the Mann Co red, and then the face of the Spy.

He crawled towards him and crouched next to him. He took an arm and searched for a pulse. It was weak, but it could be saved. He was sure of that.

He glanced over his shoulder to hear the labored voices of the others. They were working hard to get the poles down and destroy the cameras. They would probably fair fine against some petty poles though. Some of their comrades needed their assistance.

He carefully checked for any immediate dangers to his person, like a bleeding source that he could stop. Considering the fall, he was not about to move the man’s body, so left him on the ground. When he was sure that he could find his way back, he hurried off to find a Medic.

He found Maxwell tending to the bullet wound of a RED Scout. Neither of them paid him much attention, seeing him as an outlier to the meat of what was going on. They saw him as a coward, because he could disguise and hide himself.

“Doctor! I need your assistance!” he demanded, hastily. Large bullets were pounding the vehicle that guarded the Medic and his patient. That monster of a robot really seemed to know who best to target. “It’s of great urgency!” he pressed.

“Wait your turn, Spy!” the Scout spat.

“You look fine,” Maxwell glanced over him, turning back to the Scout’s bullet wound.

“Not me, you imbecile!” he declared with frustration, “Another! The other Spy!”

“Bring him here,” the Medic shook his head, “There are too many patients. I can’t risk getting too close to that machine!”

“He’s fallen from a pole! I cannot move him,” he explained.

“There is nothing I can do at the moment,” Maxwell looked at him, “Do what you can and hope he holds out until somebody _can_ come and help him.”

Antoine growled beneath his breath as he scanned the area for another Medic. His eyes hit a glint of a shotgun and he noticed the Engineer holding it. He could fetch one of the Engineers to build a dispenser by the man.

The moment he heard the click click of the empty gun, he sprinted. The Engineer was already moving, and he quickly calculated where the man was going in order to cut him off. He grabbed his shoulder and pulled him aside.

“I require your assistance, laborer!” he dragged the man off across the road and towards the body he had left lying in the leaves. When he came to the spot though he nearly panicked, finding nothing more than an indent where he had been. “He was right here!” he exclaimed, looking around in a flurry.

“Who was?” the Engineer asked.

“The Spy! The one who fell from the pole!” he motioned upward, where the pole used to be.

“Drag marks show he’s been pulled out,” the Engineer cocked his gun, ready to fire at anything.

“What are you doing?” Antoine asked him, just a little startled at the reaction.

“You saw those Scoutbots. We don’t even _know_ what lives out here,” the Engineer followed the drag marks carefully, “Better safer than sorry.”

Antoine grabbed his pistol and hurried along the drag marks. It was not far before they found the Soldier dragging the Spy. He looked rather determined, hurriedly pulling the man through some brambles.

“Just a Soldier,” the Engineer put his gun in a resting position.

“A dispenser please,” he requested, as he approached the Soldier dragging the other Spy.

“Soldier!” the Engineer called to the man, as he started setting up a blue dispenser.

Antoine approached the Soldier, pulling the Spy from his hands. He fought back a bit, “Never leave a man behind!” The Soldier sounded desperate, as if he had forgotten or was unaware of the Engineer’s dispenser.

“Soldier!” Antoine protested, giving the man a shake.

He looked on with mildly confused curiosity as the helmet fell back. The Soldier’s face was streaked with tears and his eyes were red. He looked back at him, but Antoine got the feeling that the Soldier was not actually seeing him.

“Soldier, look at me,” he demanded, “He’ll die if you drag him like this. Let him heal by the dispenser.”

Already, the Engineer had grabbed the limp body, dragging him by his ankles towards the dispenser, which could only sit on flat solid ground. He hefted the man’s torso, leaning him against the dispenser. Seeing that the injured Spy would be taken care of, Antoine gave the Engineer a pleased nod, before turning his attention back to the Soldier. The Soldier was staring at the man leaned against the dispenser.

“Soldier?” Antoine put a hand on his shoulder, hoping he might shake him to his senses. They had work to do to get out of this mess, after all.

“They’re all dying,” the Soldier said, through sniffling tears.

“What?” Antoine looked between him and the other Spy. The Engineer ran off to join in taking down another post with a camera anyways.

“All of my friends…they’re dying or dead,” the Soldier sniffled.

“That’s not true,” Antoine felt a pang of guilty dread.

He knew this feeling all too well. This sensation was a familiar old friend to him. It welcomed itself right into his life, and reminded him that he was still human. It was that feeling of being quite helpless when it came to fate. It was that feeling of surrendering oneself to strange faiths, all for the hope of extra luck or sanity or something along those lines. All the while, you watch your comrades and friends die around you, wondering which of your friends would be next, if you would be all alone soon, or if the next to go would be you.

He shook the feeling and doubled his efforts on the Soldier, “You have Hugh! I have Drake! They’re alive! He’s going to be fine. He’ll live another day. Let’s go!”

The mention of the other Spy must have clicked for the Soldier. A sudden fear that was unlike the flighty type that kept people safe, sent the man bolting off towards the road. The machine had yet to stop firing though.

“Soldier no!” he cried out, throwing himself forward to barrel right into the Soldier. A bullet barely missed his ear, but the burning sensation was left behind and he cried out in pain from it. His mask was left singed by the pass.

“I have to make sure he’s okay!” the Soldier cried.

“Of course he’s okay!” Antoine exclaimed, “He’s fine!”

“That’s what you said about Maurice!” the Soldier spat, “This ain’t a normal Mann Co battle! This is a real war! This is live or die…and we aren’t doing a whole lot of winning, so we must be doing a whole lot of dying.”

“Yes, I see your point,” he raised his head, just enough to see the road. The click click of the gun sent him sprawling to his feet. It was time to run in and help.

After this pass, everybody ducked down just in time. Only, it was all preceded by silence. This should have been a relief, but as Antoine crouched in the shrubs, he felt only a lingering tension. He was terrified of just what might happen next.

He peeked out to see that the machine had stopped moving entirely. Its gun was still pointed outwards, and it was not reloading. Either something had happened to it, or it was simply out of ammunition. Either way, it could not hurt them.

He started chuckling to himself, as the tension faded into a sensation of relief. Oh it felt so good to just feel a win. It was a small win, and not really due to their own efforts. All they did was keep it reloading and firing at them until it ran out of ammunition. Now it was all out of bullets, and it had nothing more to throw at them. “What do you think of _that_ Administration?” he laughed.

A familiar scream caught his attention. He turned to get a better look, watching as a Scout came screaming into the street from the other side. He watched with confusion at the younger mercenary’s fright, but was only further taken aback when a Scoutbot appeared and knocked him down onto his front.

“No, no, no!” the Scout shouted, as he was picked up by his leg. He swung about like a pendulum, trying to get up to fight back.

Not wanting to see what would happen next, Antoine leaped out of hiding. He was about to shoot the Scoutbot, when a big hunk of metal grabbed him. He lurched, jerking his body in an attempt to free himself. He even let the suit tear, trying to escape the grip that tried to take his arm. Then there was a grip around his head and face, blanking out the lights. He screamed with terror.


	38. Paulings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spies do their best to keep their best card on the table, and to keep Gray guessing.

Bleu watched in horror at what was happening. They were all being quite foolish and did not realize it until it was too late. The Scoutbots immediately took advantage of the mercenaries’ attempts to help their comrades, snatching them up and making them helpless while they had their minds set on the lives of the others. In their rush to save their friends and coworkers, they got caught by the enemy, like the fools they were.

Much to his surprise, and his relief, none of the Scoutbots acted any further on this. They did their best to catch everyone. They even caused a few injuries in the process. It was mostly bruising, torn ligaments and a fracture or two, nothing deliberate. Armed with guns and picking the mercenaries off of their feet to dangle by limbs or even their heads, the Scoutbots were a frightening threat, more so than the giant Heavybot.

He looked on from his hiding place, feeling like an atrocious monster. If he _had_ been as brave a man as they were, foolishly risking his life for another, he would be in their places. Except that he was here, hanging back in safety, feeling guilty about his choices and wishing he could be a better person. That was just not the man he was, he thought.

“Well well…it seems like we are at an impasse,” a familiar old man’s voice came over the speakers.

“What the hell?” Bleu muttered to himself.

He moved stealthily through the trees. He made his way to one of the poles still standing, where a speaker phone and a camera were still sitting. They had knocked down most of the ones near the giant Heavy robot, but this one was just barely standing.

“It seems like I have all the pieces in my hand, Miss Pauling,” the man said, in a low crooning voice.

“Grey! Don’t do this!” Miss Pauling ran out into the street, shouting as loudly as she could to be sure her voice was picked up. Her hair was a ratted mess. Her glasses were eschew. Her eyes were overflowing with tears. “Don’t do anything to them!”

“I am not so foolish as to throw my chips into the trash,” Grey Mann said, speaking slowly over the speakers, “But, dear Miss Pauling, I _will_ start killing them…one by one…to get what I want.”

She looked around, looking rather panicked and scared, “I…I don’t…what do you want? You want me? Here!” She spread her arms out and stood like a big open target in the road. “Take me instead!”

“Fucking idiot,” Bleu muttered.

“No! Take me!” Miss Pauling’s voice came from up the road and another Pauling came stumbling out of the trees, “I’m the real Pauling! He’s a Spy!”

“What? No I’m not!” the Pauling in the middle of the street declared.

Another Pauling stumbled out of nowhere, “You idiots! _I’m_ Pauling!”

Bleu chuckled under his breath. It seemed that every Spy was getting into this action. Every Spy but himself.

He took a deep breath and made his decision. It was either do or die. It was time to finally change _something_. Maybe he could at least manage to face Maurizio in the next life.

He rushed to the nearest dispenser, taking a spare set of tools. None of them looked quite right, so he turned to an Engineer. “Disguise kit!”

The Engineer took the tools and like magic changed them into a disguise kit. He did not bother with more than a brief bit of gratitude. He hurried off into the street as he activated the disguise kit.

“Hey! Grey! Over here!” he called out, breathily, “I’m the real Pauling!”

He could have laughed at himself right then. He could have doubled over and wiped a tear from his eye. How foolish he was being, just like Maurzio would. If only Maurizio could see him now, finally standing out of the shadows and acting with boldness in the face of almost certain death.

“No! No! Stop! This is the cringiest piece of- Don’t tell me what that means! I don’t care if it’s youth lingo! I will use it anyways!” Grey sounded like he was yelling at somebody on his end. He cleared his throat before he continued. “Anyways, you’re not what I want,” he explained.

“What do you want?!” one of the other Paulings exclaimed. It was not like _he_ knew which of them was a real woman.

“What do I want?” Grey asked, with a smooth tone, “I want your surrender.”

“No surrender!” a RED Soldier suddenly rocket jumped into the air, aiming a shovel at the speaker.

Without hesitation, a Scoutbot shot him with a shotgun. The Soldier cried out in pain and dropped like a sack of lemons. He groaned where he fell. One of the Paulings almost sprinted towards him, but another one held out an arm, telling that Pauling to hold back.

“I’ll tell you what, Miss Pauling,” Grey went on, unperturbed by the Soldier’s interruption, “Let’s sit down and have a discussion. Your agent was kind enough to begin negotiations, but I suppose _you_ should be involved in them as well.”

“Agent?” a Pauling whispered.

“Hey uh…Miss Pauling…whichever one you are,” a Scout dangling by his foot called out, “What uh…what’s he talking about? You got some kind of agent?”

“I am set up in a temporary establishment, just down the road from where you are,” Grey said, in that deep tone, “As long as there are no more outbursts, your mercenaries will be fine. I’ll even be as gracious as to permit you to bring your other _Paulings_.”

Bleu could just sense the betrayal. He wanted to flee from there, to tell Miss Pauling not to buy this. Maybe it was time he backed out and left her to her fate.

Then again, what would Maurizio do? Maurizio would have stuck through with it. Believe in it or not, he would have stuck with what he had gotten himself into. And somehow, some way, he would get himself out of it.

“I’m not leaving them like this,” one of the other Paulings threw out an arm to gesture to the mercenaries being held by robots.

“They _stay_ ,” Grey responded, sternly.

“Not in _this_ condition!” another Pauling declared.

“This is preposterous!” another Pauling declared. That Pauling definitely sounded like a Spy, and that was probably a terrible slip up. Although Bleu was not sure which of the two other Spies he was.

“You come alone, with your Paulings,” Grey growled over the speakers.

“We will come!” Bleu barked. He figured he needed to interject with something to blend in. “Just put them down,” he demanded, “Stop holding them by their legs…and heads!”

“Fine fine,” Grey grumbled.

After a two-minute delay, the robots started putting the mercenaries down on the ground. Finally, they were mostly free, but they were not yet free from the armed Scoutbots. With fully armed and ready to fire Scoutbots surrounding them, the mercenaries scrambled to their feet and put their hands above their heads.

“Miss Pauling!” Forbes called out, waving to them.

“Not now, Demoman!” one of the others said, a bit snidely.

“Miss Pauling, you aren’t actually thinking about giving up, are you?” one of the Scouts asked, looking worried.

“Yea, we shouldn’t quit now!” the other Scout agreed, with a firm nod.

“Miss Pauling!” Forbes started towards the Paulings, but was grabbed and pulled back by the Scoutbot guarding him.

“We have to regroup later,” one of the Paulings said, as they began to group together.

“Stay spread out,” one of the Paulings growled low, shoving one of them away. They all backed away, keeping their distance from one another.

“They can’t take us all if they aim for one,” the Pauling that was pushed away nodded in agreement.

“Just…just…we need to think about this,” the third Pauling said, brushing her bangs back. Bleu noted the way she began to fret, deciding that that was the real Pauling.

“Don’t give up! We joined this and we’re all in!” one of the Scouts chimed in eagerly.

“Not now, Scout!” one of the other Paulings snapped at him.

“Focus,” Bleu insisted, “This could very well be a trap.”

“It is very likely a trap,” another nodded in agreement, “We’ll be walking right in for our deaths.”

“But, if we refuse…” the seemingly real Pauling looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“Keep it together,” another Pauling whispered, “We have to keep this going.”

“Don’t let him figure it out,” Bleu agreed.

“If we don’t do something quickly, he _will_ kill them,” one of the other Paulings put in, “He is not a man of empty threats. That is for certain.”

“We have to deal with this _now_ ,” another Pauling added, nodding, “We don’t have time to wait and count the minutes for it.”

“And going in would be accepting death,” Bleu pressed, “At least if we are doing this we should do it with some reasoning behind it.”

“Is saving everyone not reason enough for you?” another Pauling growled.

“Well, I’m sorry, I don’t really see the point in walking into our death if everyone’s going to die anyways!” Bleu growled.

“Alright, alright,” another Pauling put in.

Bleu did a double take, looking around. The number of Spies disguised as Pauling, plus the real Pauling had suddenly gone up from four to five. Wherever he had come from, he had gone right by Bleu’s peripheral vision, and he had snuck in without him noticing.

“We have to angle this,” that Pauling went on. At least, he was sure it was that Pauling that was still talking. “We get to the meeting point and send the rest to a new rendezvous.”

“And how do we keep Grey from knowing?” Bleu asked, folding his arms under where breasts would be if he were an actual woman.

“This setup was rushed,” the other nodded to him, “They had very little time. The poles were mostly just altered light posts. We just did not look closely while we were driving. They did not have enough warning about where we were going in order to actually put up a setup that could pick up our voices from here. They are at a great disadvantage in regards to hearing.”

“He _obviously_ hears us,” Bleu narrowed his eyes.

One of the other Paulings spoke very low, “Only when our voices are raised.”

“Okay…what then?” the one who seemed like the real Pauling asked, “Where do we send the others and how?”

“They’re going to just have to sit tight,” another sighed, “Let’s just…let’s just go see what he wants.”

“This…this is a trap!” Bleu argued.

“It’s only going to get worse with every minute that we stand here!” the other exclaimed, “We have to move on and try!”

Bleu bit his tongue this time. He had already spoken his mind. He had long since learned that yelling his thoughts did not make them heard any more than they already were ignored.

“Let’s move on from here,” the newer Pauling nodded, “Let’s head out before Grey changes his mind.”

“That would be a fucking wrench in everything,” another Pauling agreed.

“As if this whole situation isn’t a fucking wrench!” the seemingly real Pauling threw her arms into the air.

“Calm down,” one of the others growled, “Blend in.”

*********************************************************************

Antoine was relieved to be free, but had spared little time to enjoy the freedom of not having his neck threatened by a grip on his head and another on his shoulder. He had been unable to hear everything while he was in the grip of the Scoutbot. Taking to context of what the four Paulings were doing, he had slipped away from his captor to disguise himself as a Pauling as well.

Now, amongst this group of Paulings, he found an even worse situation than he had previously thought. Not only were they winging this, but they were a disorganized mess in regards to their goals. One was out for his own skin, another was on the verge of tears with fear and passion for his friends, and the other two were just a bit angry at those two. For the most part, their anger turned to Grey. He could already guess who was who based on how they were naturally: Bleu, Maurizio and then the other two were Hugh and Pauling. Of course Hugh would match up to Pauling’s behavior and attitude.

“Alright, let’s…let’s focus here,” he said, pushing down the desire for a cigarette, “We do not have a lot of options and not a lot of time to decide. Given his track record, Grey is bound to change his mind quickly.”

“Can I get a Medic over here?” the injured Soldier suddenly called out.

Any mercenary who tried to move towards the fallen man was threatened with a gun. The others were silent, holding their hands up in submission. None of them wanted to die right there trying to be a hero.

“If we go to that meeting, we are _all_ dead,” Bleu said, with a firm gesture of his hand. Always thought he was smarter than the rest, but always thinking about the better of oneself than the greater good.

Antoine learned that lesson the hard way. As a Spy in a war, you could never really trust anybody. He could never really trust Hugh as much as he displayed. Signs of trust were an act, solely meant to relax the guards of others, who might begin to trust a little more. However, there was always a need to put oneself second, when the lives of others were at risk. Then again, perhaps this situation required Antoine to be more vigilant for others, because he knew his son would not escape alive if the rest of them were killed.

The burden of bringing in a new aspect of the situation laid heavily on his shoulders, “Grey mentioned an agent. That must mean that there is another Spy working with us who is already there. He would not have mentioned it, unless negotiations really were underway.”

“Grey is a clever man though,” Bleu argued.

“It’s not about being clever! This is about doing what we have to!” the emotionally driven Maurizio argued, turning on his long-time counterpart.

“He is _always_ one step ahead…in everything,” Bleu did not miss a beat, ignoring what Maurizio had said.

“Oh? And what experience do _you_ have with Grey?” Maurizio demanded.

“None personally,” Bleu admitted, “But, I have read enough about his work in other bases to know that the man has the company rightfully wrapped up in his finger.”

“Now hold on a second!” either Hugh or the real Pauling spoke up, “That is an unfair claim! Sure he is clever, but half of those stories are boastful and exaggerated. It is hardly worth trusting them as evidence of what he can do. Yes, _he is clever_. However, I have been working with this man for decades. I know a thing or two about how to handle him.” That was definitely the real Miss Pauling, seeing as Hugh had little to no contact with Grey Mann.

“Well then, we had best hope he hasn’t already planned to shoot us on the spot,” Bleu said, snidely.

“Help!” the downed Soldier called out again. Nobody moved, too afraid for their own lives to save his.

“Don’t you count it as a little strange that he hasn’t shot us yet?” Hugh interjected, using the same behavioral patterns as Miss Pauling did, “He has as many Scoutbots as we have mercenaries. He could have ordered us dead already.”

“How would we get all of these mercenaries to escape anyways?” Bleu pressed.

Miss Pauling averted her eyes. They flickered about the ground, searching and thinking. She was a fast thinker though, but this decision weighed heavily on her.

“They can’t,” she finally answered. There were a few moments of silence among them.

“I’m waiting!” Grey declared with frustration.

“Give us a minute!” Hugh turned to bark at the speaker.

“The clock is ticking!” Grey exclaimed, “The longer you make me wait, the closer we get to death. You’ve got four mortally wounded mercenaries, and a missing Scout… Your prospects are slowly fading. I can leave them to die and have each standing man shot on the spot, one by one.” His voice had this slow and calculated tone to it, driving in the severity of the situation. “If we have to do this all night, I won’t stand for it,” Grey went on, “You’ll all be dead by morning if that comes to pass.”

Maurizio growled with frustration, “I hate it, but we’ve got to work with him.”

“Miss Pauling?” Antoine turned to her. In the end, this had to be her call. She was the one with the must intel on this man and their situation, and she knew what was going on.

Miss Pauling took a breath and stiffed herself. She had this bold look about her, like she was about to march into a real war – as if they were not already at risk of death as it was. She then turned on her heels to face the majority of the mercenaries, who cowered with hands in the air, with fear.

“Here’s how this is going to go down!” she announced, “Nobody touches a weapon!” She paused, letting that sink in. Once she was sure they both heard her and understood that they could not under any circumstances touch a weapon, she went on, “Medics, pick up your mediguns and tend to the wounded. Start with the dying. I want to come back and see every man on his feet!”

“Nobody touch anything!” Grey’s voice blaring over the speaker caused it to ring annoyingly, “What do you think you’re doing? I will have you all shot if you move!”

Pauling turned to look up at the camera by the speaker. She puffed up her chest and held herself proudly, “We are coming to meet with you, Grey. The rest will stay put, but you have to let them tend to their wounds. They will remain here…unarmed…until we get back. You will _not_ cause any harm to them…and we will have a peaceful meeting.”

There was a moment’s pause that caused Antoine to hold his breath. Finally, the old man said, “Deal.”

There was a breath of relief from Pauling and suddenly all three Medics were rushing around. He paused, thinking of going back to find his son himself. No, he had to stick to what he was doing. His son would be fine. In fact, he would be safer if he stayed away. The Scout was missing, which meant that Grey did not know where he was. He was an unaccounted for body, or otherwise missing in action. He would let Drake remain in hiding, instead going to meet with Grey Mann to handle negotiations with Miss Pauling.

Pauling turned and lead the way. It seemed that they were walking. And as they walked, they were silent but careful. None of them spoke, their bated breath barely making noise as they made their way. Eventually it became evident that the four smokers did not have quite the same capacity for breathing and exercising as Miss Pauling, as their breathing became labored.

“Stay paced together,” Hugh said, in a low voice.

“I thought we were supposed to be spaced out?” Miss Pauling asked, looking back at him.

“Back there,” Hugh replied, “Back there, the threat was guns. Out here, the threat is cameras. There is no escaping the cameras…but to work against them.” Hugh picked up his pace to move next to Miss Pauling.

There was a look on her face. She did not get it. At least Antoine understood, as he rushed up beside Hugh. Blending in was the best way to handle the cameras right now. As long as Grey could not tell which one was the real Pauling, she would be safe. Body doubles would prevent their _in man_ from being offed. Besides, it was unlikely that there was a gunman out here, and if his orders were to off Miss Pauling, his chances were lowered in picking the right person.

“When we get there, stay standing,” Hugh added. It was mostly for the other two than Miss Pauling, who would undoubtedly want a rest.

“What?” Maurizio seemed a bit disbelieving.

“So he doesn’t pick out Pauling,” Antoine noted, “This will be more difficult than tricking cameras. No whispering. No behaving oddly.”

“We’re not behaving oddly!” those two Spies hissed in unison.

“That there,” Hugh said, pointedly.

“You may have a point,” Bleu tried to straighten his back, to match Miss Pauling’s stature, “Doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

“No, you have to like it,” Hugh argued, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, “You have to like it, and sell it. So do it, or you’ll be annexed.”

Immediately, Maurizio straightened his back to mimic the others. They all marched, almost in unison. Whatever the case they were grouped back together and Miss Pauling would be kept safer for future negotiations.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Antoine added, his eyes flickering along the side of the street, in search of danger. Any sign of a gun or a glint of a robot’s metallic body, and he would be running for cover. Luckily they were not walking in the direct middle of the road, staying to the side, where they could make a likely escape into the bushes or trees.

This street was quiet and devoid of cars. It was fresh black, with white and yellow paint colors that were fresh smelling, with crisply sharp lines. This was a newly paved road, but it was a road that almost nobody took. That was, unless there was something preventing them from coming here.

It would make sense that if an attack with robots was planned, Mann Co would take precautions. Keep the civilians away for the fighting. It was less for the safety of others, given Mann Co’s previous hospitality for dead bodies, as well as previous affiliation with murderous groups, and more to keep their image.

It was hard to think that it had been so long since they actually did real mercenary work. If he thought long and hard, and considered the past decades, maybe even half a century, he would find nothing of a true mercenary’s work in what he had been doing. Not that he was particularly fond of being a mercenary or anything, it just seemed to be a type of pride that only snuffed out when one quit the job, or at least managed to quit.

However, they had not quit. None of these men had quit their job. They were still doing it. They were still fighting. They built sentries, they shot guns, they took bullets, they fell to their deaths and they drank away all of those traumas until they were belligerent.

“South of us,” Hugh suddenly hissed.

Antoine turned his eyes just in time to see the glint of light off a camera lens. He narrowed his eyes, giving the camera a glare. They were definitely not unattended in this long and arduous journey to meet with Grey. He had taken plenty of precautions to make sure that they were going in the right direction.

The real Miss Pauling took a deep breath. She let it out in a sigh, but did nothing else to distinguish herself. She was probably thinking about all of this too. Though, he wondered just how much she cared about the lives of the mercenaries they left behind.

Pauling seemed to have grown attached to them in some way. She was fond of them, in a distant manner. They were not close in any personal manner, but there was something about the way she saw the mercenaries. Perhaps she had been in the job of dealing with them as an overall handler for too long. She was falling into the same pits as a regular handler, trying to feel empathy for every Soldier and every Demoman, but not knowing them on a truly personal level.

“If this pans out, I’m never picking up a dead ringer again,” the one named Maurizio suddenly whispered.

“Don’t count your eggs too soon,” Hugh replied, “It would be _very_ unlikely to go the way you are thinking.”

“And how are you expecting this to play out?” Bleu asked, a bit louder than he probably should have.

After a few brief moments, Hugh shot Bleu a glare, “Just keep your head down.”

“Don’t patronize me!” Bleu snapped.

“If you are about to start a fight amongst Paulings, then I suggest you lay your weapons down,” Antoine growled, “Because you will not win this fight.”

“I’m not in on this!” Maurice put his hands up.

“Could you four just shut up and get along for once!” the real Miss Pauling was gritting her teeth, holding back a tirade of words.

“It’s not so easy,” was Bleu’s response.

“Yes ma’am,” was Maurice’s response.

“It’s not that simple,” was Hugh’s response.

Silence was Antoine’s response. He had nothing to add. He wanted everybody to just shut up and work together, but things were never so simple. He was honestly on Hugh’s side, but he could not say anything without being an echo. Or at least, not without realizing that if there was anybody smart watching the monitors, through which the cameras were projecting the five Paulings, then they would have figured out by now just who is the real Pauling.

“Shuffle,” Antoine suggested.

“What?” the real Pauling asked, with confusion.

“Do it,” he spoke in a carefully low voice, “Several times. We can’t risk it anymore.”

Hugh nodded and side stepped around the real Miss Pauling. There was hesitation, before the other two Spies started shuffling around as well. They moved slowly and carefully, bunching together but shuffling around. They had to prevent a pattern, lest Grey Mann followed that pattern.


	39. Just Standing Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not allowed to move. So, do they fight back?

Relief struck Andrew when the Medics were allowed to take up their mediguns. They did not act until after Grey Mann agreed of course. This meant that the idiot Soldier – the one that was almost him, because he was having that very same idea – would get the medical aid he had been calling for.

The rest of them were in bad shape too. Some of them were dying, though considering the chances they had, it was a decent number among the survivors on their feet. Andrew shuffled from foot to foot with impatience, watching for any reaction to his movements from his captor. Nearby him was Glen, who was glaring at the Scoutbot, who had taken a hold of him by his jacket because he tried to fight it. Andrew wanted to fight it too.

He thought better of it and decided to look for Hugh. Hugh would keep his mind grounded. If it was best to fight back, Hugh would definitely tell him. Though, given the way things were going, it did not actually look like a good idea to fight back.

“I didn’t come out here just to lay down like a dog!” the Sniper growled at the Scoutbot.

“Spy?” Andrew turned his attention to looking for his beloved.

“What mate?” the Sniper turned to look at him.

“Looking for Spy,” Andrew said, a bit awkwardly. He was not sure how aware others who could hear him should know that he was closely affiliated with the Spy.

“He’s gone mate,” the Sniper said, dismissively.

His heart drop. Dread took over. His face lost blood and he could not think straight. “Gone?” he asked, barely able to breathe.

“Yea! Went with Pauling,” Glen threw a thumb up the road in the direction that Pauling had left.

“Oh,” that was a relief that Andrew could have laughed at. He felt so silly for initially assuming that he had meant death. Of course Hugh’s best friend would not say that so dismissively.

“Aren’t you paying attention?” Glen pressed, “All the Spies are with Pauling.”

Andrew blinked and looked around. A Scoutbot had grabbed him by the head, so he had missed a lot of what had happened. He could not see and could barely hear what everybody was saying, so all he really knew was that Pauling went to negotiate something, Grey Mann was meeting with her, and they were to stay put until further notice.

“This piker is asking for a head removal,” Glen growled.

Andrew caught the glint of a blade hidden just underneath of the back of Glen’s jacket, “Sniper!”

“What?” Glen glared at him.

“Stand down, son,” he said, “We’re in Grey’s territory now.”

“What happened to _quitting_ not being in your vocabulary?” Glen growled.

He paused at that. It was true, he would never be the type to back down, once upon a time. There were times, early in their relationship, when he had argued with Hugh about backing down or fighting back. He was not like that anymore.

He almost missed that. Maybe that was why it was not him that had leaped through the air screaming about not surrendering. A man like that was the kind of man that won a war, because surrendering was to give up and let the other take every bit of loot and glory.

That was a strange but humbling feeling. He was different now. Part of him was proud of that, because he had gotten help for his mental problems. He thought before he acted. He had Hugh to remind him, and he even used remembering Hugh as a key for not doing certain stupid things, when Hugh was not around.

“It’s been a while since we fought together,” he admitted to the Sniper, “I’ve gotten a bigger vocabulary.”

He sank back into his thoughts. The worry came rising up, as the other part of him fretted over the loss of his will to win. If he was not the stubborn man who did not give surrender, then what was he if not a quitter? That felt shameful.

“You maggots are all a bunch of sissies!” the injured Soldier was finally recovering, and with his recovery he began harassing the others verbally.

“You can shut up now, Soldier,” the Medic tending to him said.

“I don’t quit, doc! So I won’t quit when I need to say something to my team full of maggots!” the Soldier roared.

The Medic sighed as he went about his work. Andrew turned his attention away, looking over at the vehicles. They were all battered and pelted with bullets. Some had indents from the Scoutbots themselves, from punching and shoving to look for people.

The most terrifying sight was Hugh’s vehicle though. Scout had been laying in there, unable to protect himself. He shuddered as he thought about what the Scoutbots must have done to create so much damage. He shuddered to think of Hugh’s temper when he finally got around to screaming his head off at the Spy who was borrowing his car.

“We’re still missing a Scout!” a Medic called out, rushing to the next patient.

“Ja! He’s the injured one!” another Medic called out.

The third Medic was familiar to Andrew, having fought his team for decades in the past, “He was in the car last I saw-” The man looked over at the car and grimaced.

“I will not tolerate those who evade war!” the previously dying Soldier leaped to his feet and snatched up his shovel to shake it around. He looked like he was going to go for blood. “Missing in action? More like missing your skin! I’ll shave the hide of the next man who thinks he can go missing!”

“Soldier, he is not missing in action,” a Medic told him.

“Oh yea? Then where is he? If he does not report in, in ten minutes, then I am going to put a missle right up his crap shoot!” the Soldier shouted.

“Soldier, he was severely wounded!” the Medic told him.

The familiar Medic sighed loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Given the state of his concussion and the Scoutbots…it is most likely that he was not able to fend off the Scoutbots. If he was fighting them off blindly, then they may have killed him. Maybe even by accident.”

Andrew’s heart sank that time. He closed his eyes and reached for his helmet. His fingers grazed the edge, before he realized that he knew where Scout was.

“He’s not dead! He’s been perfectly hidden in the forest!” he announced, glad to remind himself that there was not a death.

A Scoutbot’s head turned to him. He looked up at it and felt a tremble go down his spine. He had just told the people watching them what had happened to Scout.

“Dammit! I am going to kick his little monkey ass!” the Soldier started off towards the forest.

A Scoutbot abandoned the Demoman it was watching to grab the Soldier and wrestle him to the ground. The man went down screaming and hollering about how they would not take him alive. Yet, soon enough, the robots took the Soldier alive and held him captive, dangling just off his feet by the back of his jacket. It was just a little more degrading than the way a Scoutbot was holding Glen.

“We need a plan, mate,” Glen growled.

Andrew hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. He was never good with plans. He had always known that. He could execute a plan, but it had to be created by somebody else.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Glen looked around, “Create a distraction of chaos.”

Andrew shook his head, “People will get hurt and die.”

“The hell you think this is? Boy scouts?” Glen’s tone raised in pitch, “What do you care about these others anyways? We should be _driving_ up this road, _with_ Spy and the others…and we should be going up there to _kill Grey Mann_.”

Andrew listened in silence. That sounded really great and really smart. If they were driving, things would be much better. If they were with Spy, then things would go smoothly, because the Spy usually had a plan. And as far as killing Grey Mann, that sounded like a dastardly evil necessity.

Andrew nodded, “Okay, but how do we do that? There are Scoutbots everywhere. The Heavybot is still blocking the road.”

“I say we get things stirring,” Glen suggested, looking around at the others, searching for some sort of diversion.

Andrew figured he had little to nothing to add to this, so he stayed quiet. He was not sure he would be any use until the diversion was finally underway. He could do a plan, but he could not make a plan.

*********************************************************************

Maxwell had been very deliberate when he approached Dooley. He looked up at the Medic, giving him a curious expression. He felt a bit worried that the Medic was taking this fight harshly.

He had already been through the ringer, after all. It was easy to tell a man to be strong. It was a completely different thing for that man to actually _be_ the way people expect him to be. Not to mention the stress he was under to keep everything together.

“You alright, doc?” he asked, being cautious not to give names.

The Medic nodded, “Our Scout may be in danger, if they go looking for him.”

“How well is he hidden?” Dooley asked, with a frown.

“Not sure,” Maxwell shrugged, “I wasn’t there.”

Dooley nodded, “Not much we can do doc. Just gotta wait.”

Maxwell nodded and sighed. Dooley thought back to when they were in the bathroom. At the time, it felt like a resolution, but looking back that seemed untrue.

“Well, I hope they finish their negotiations soon,” Maxwell said, with a frustrated grunt.

Dooley nodded, but he was distracted. He looked at the man’s tired eyes. Why had he not noticed them before? Maybe it was because he too was tired, so he had reflected his level of exhaustion on the other for long periods of time. Looking at him now, and realizing that he had thoughts like the one from this morning in the bathroom, he saw that those dark rings around his eyes told a whole different story.

Who was to say that Maxwell would not try again? In the heat of the moment, he would keep himself alive. Even if only to keep others alive. He worried that Maxwell’s deep seeded love for a man who died might trump his worry about Dooley’s wellbeing, among others.’

He decided that if it came up again, he would mention how many mercenaries there were. There were a lot of them with only two other Medics. One Medic had a hard time keeping up with a whole team of nine, so it would be difficult to impossible for the two men to keep up with a team more than twice the size of a full team.

“You doing alright, partner?” he finally asked, unable to get the worry off of his mind.

“Yes,” Maxwell blinked at him, as if he were insane for asking. Perhaps he had forgotten for the moment what he had tried that morning.

“Just wonderin’ is all,” Dooley insisted, with a smile.

Maxwell nodded, “I should take care of the others.”

“You do that,” Dooley nodded to him.

“We could use a dispenser,” Maxwell said.

Dooley frowned up at the Scoutbot behind him, “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Maxwell nodded, “Alright. Well, don’t get shot or anything.” He hurried off to take care of a patient.

Dooley watched him go. It was a good thing that the Medic was busy. Harsh work or no, they not only needed him, but he needed them. It would remind Maxwell that there was a place for him here. Perhaps that could keep him in place.

*********************************************************************

Glen wished he could pace, or do something. All he could do was stand there and wait like a pumpkin on a porch. The Scoutbot was not taking its attention away from him, not even for a moment.

After talking to the Soldier, he realized that a lot had changed. He had continued sniping like a regular old mercenary would. Hugh and his boyfriend, on the other hand, had gone off to live relatively normal lives. They spent about a year without guns in their hands, without constant threats, and without a whole bunch of rowdy men surrounding them.

That must have been nice, he thought. That thought brought him guilt as he thought back to Melisa, who stayed home with the baby. Meanwhile, he was off gallivanting on some mission, after years of _still_ working for this fake, good for nothing company.

By all accounts, he should be glad to be out here. He was with the people he wanted to work with. It was not like Hugh was always hanging over his shoulder anyways, so nothing new about him disappearing. For now, he just had to accept his choices and their consequences.

He watched a Medic run around searching for more patients. The three Medics they had seemed to keep themselves busy healing others, maybe for the sake of staying out of the grips of those Scoutbots. It was not like the Scoutbots were anything special, they were just regular Scoutbots that had been made bigger than regulars. Maybe there was some thicker metal, but he was not sure they should be afraid of them, especially more so than the Heavybot.

“We should wait for Spy,” the Soldier interrupted his thoughts.

He eyed the man curiously. It seemed rare for the Soldier to say anything smart. Then again, he had not been around the Soldier in almost a year. Given how much he seemed to change, perhaps he was smarter than he was before. Leave it to Spy to make a Soldier into a more intelligent man.

“I’m about fed up with just standing here,” he grumbled.

He looked over at the camper. They did quite a number on the thing. He wondered if it would even drive. No telling what might happen if a cop tried to pull him over because of the severity of the damage.

“If we cause a stir, we could get shot,” the Soldier protested.

“They’re hardly twisting arms,” Glen looked around at the others who fidgeted, “Where’s your spark for a fight?”

“My spark hasn’t gone out,” the Soldier replied, shifting from foot to foot, “I think we should be smart about this.”

“Not the Soldier I knew,” he commented.

“No, maybe not,” the Soldier admitted, still shifting awkwardly, “But…maybe…maybe we’re supposed to change.”

Glen grunted, “Mercenaries don’t change. We kill.”

“What are you saying?” the Soldier’s head turned and his helmet was tipped back to reveal his eyes, “ _You’ve_ changed more than anyone?”

“What? What are you talking about? I haven’t changed!” Glen exclaimed defensively.

“You’ve changed more than anybody,” the Soldier argued, “You’re practically a civilian now. If Mann Co let go, you’d leave. You wouldn’t even look back at mercenary work. You’re a family man, with a wi- a girlfriend and child. She’s a pretty little girl. And you’ve become a father.”

Glen frowned as he thought back to his dream of running away with Melisa and Esperanza, “Yea but…” His voice trailed off, unable to argue. He was guilty of giving up on that dream, of going back to mercenary life, and turning his back to Melisa.

He lowered his head. The shame weighed on him, as he thought about how worried she must be. It was not as if she did not already worry about him every single day he was away from her. He was a mercenary getting killed over and over, after all. His usual work just normally had a respawn, with which he was revived every time he died.

And yet, every time he came home, he would come back to worried faces. There were no more tears, not like the old days. She used to bawl about how scared she had been when the cameras did not show her that he had respawned. When the cameras had avoided him for hours. And then, how much she hurt from all the bawling, by the time the show would reveal him alive and well.

Eventually they had both come to the realization, after much talking, that the events she saw in the show happened weeks prior. And much of that footage was edited, leaving out all of the times the Sniper actually looked at the camera, smiled at the camera, or just tried to leave a little wink for Melisa.

He did not do that anymore. There was no point to it, knowing she would not see the nods to her. Besides, now more than ever, she had reason to worry. She could not even see him here. She would never see what happened here. And he had no doubt that she knew that there was no respawn up here.

Now he tried to think of what she must be going through. He frowned as imagining her crying in his arms again made his heart sink. He had put her through a lot of stress from his everyday work. If he died here, she would not even know. He doubted anybody would tell her, except for maybe Spy. The Spy might think better of it and disappear instead, to avoid getting found out and killed.

He sighed, bringing himself out of his thoughts, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t?” the Soldier gave him a curious look.

“I should be at home…with my daughter…and my fiancé…I am supposed to get married someday…but we haven’t set a date,” he explained. He looked up at the stars. He remembered that Melisa talked about the stars, sometimes naming times of the year in which she would want to be married, just so she would be at the perfect time to see those pretty lights glimmer. “I always have to be at the base,” he said, “Weekends I get off…but it’s not enough time to make a wedding. It’s never enough time. Never.”

There was not even a moment of silence, “Have you tried?”

“We tried,” he shrugged, “Decide on color of napkins. The floral display has changed a few dozen times. We’ve been unable to get a wedding coordinator. And even after all of that…none of it is going to be good enough for Melisa.”

“She says it’s not good enough for her?” the Soldier sounded outright surprised.

Glen shrugged, hanging his head low, “N-no. Of course she didn’t. She is thrilled every time we get the chance to work on our wedding. But…she doesn’t have any family or friends to come, that I know of. Nobody would be there. She cut so many ties. She dreamed about a big wedding with all of the people from her childhood to see her marry…but I took her away from them.”

Then, there was silence. It was long and harsh. It made it harder to hide that he was choking. It made it difficult to keep trying not to choke. It did make it easier to want to keep choking, just to remain in silence.


	40. Meeting with Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet with Gray. It seems like nobody can keep up with whether they're supposed to be straightforward about the situation or dance around it.

Finally, they had arrived. Hugh listened intently for any signs of danger. A single beep of a sentry gun and he would bolt. He would not wait for trouble to arise.

Somehow all of that walking had left him tired but more anxious. It had been a mostly silent trip, aside from their shuffling around. It left him with a lot of time to think.

When he originally thought about this, he thought things would be okay. He had to protect his friend the Sniper, and his love the Soldier. He had not considered that they might act up while he was gone anyways. Now he was thinking on it, imagining how Soldier might make an outburst, or have a relapse of memory about where he was and what was going on. Glen might get frustrated and try to take a gun so he could take things into his own hands. They were men of war who liked to fight back, after all.

He took a deep breath as they approached the door of an old office building. He had to put those thoughts aside. He had to trust them, and hope that they trusted him just as much.

“We’re here,” Miss Pauling announced, lifting a hand to knock on the door.

Maurizio quirked an eyebrow, “Well now-” His words were cut off as the door was suddenly opened.

“Well well well! Come in! Come in!” Grey Mann himself, with a gritty old grin and ratty hair was greeting them.

Hugh was not sure what to feel. For the most part, he was disgusted. The man barely took care of himself, it seemed. Perhaps he was just really really old. He did not use the same machines as them, after all, and he was much older when he started using them.

“Ah…well,” Antoine was first to step in, “Glad to see you still have your manners, after all of these years.”

Miss Pauling followed him after, but she was silent. She spared Grey a glare but moved on. She was not yet ready to talk, perhaps having too much emotion built up after everything that had happened.

Then it was Maurizio’s turn, stepping through with the slightest sway of the hips to emphasize the form of Miss Pauling around the hips. “Next time you want a meeting, just call,” Maurizio said, in a passive aggressive tone.

Hugh glanced at the last man. He was hesitating, looking ready to bolt. Hugh did not come all this way to turn back though. He was very close to a possible solution. He had to work with Pauling and the others to fix this, abandoning them would go against everything.

Seeing that the other might actually _try_ to bolt, he motioned for him to go in first. “After you,” he said, with a gentle voice.

The other flinched, before making his way inside. He looked rather anxious and like he was walking on the balls of his feet. His eyes were already scanning for a possible escape when he stepped through the door.

“Do I scare you, Miss Pauling?” Grey Mann sneered.

That caused the Spy to tense up and turn on Grey, “Hardly! You are, however, an unpredictable psychopath.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to credit him with the label of _psychopath_ ,” Hugh said, making his way in after.

“Funny,” Grey said, as he closed the door.

Hugh quickly scanned the room. There was an open door leading into another room. From a mere glance there were more than ten people in there, sitting at computers with headsets. They seemed to be monitoring cameras, or perhaps controlling the Scoutbots. Whatever they were doing, they were distracted and unarmed for the time being.

In one corner of the room that they were in lingered an old man big enough to be a heavy. He doubted he was actually a Heavy though, given there was no Heavy Weapons Guy paraphilia or markings on his clothes. He also looked to be in his later sixties, a sort of body builder and fighter in his later sixties. He looked dangerous enough, if he seemed like he should have retired from mercenary work at least ten years ago.

Next to him was a dwarfed man in a long coat, with a beard that dropped down to his knees. His eyes were sharp, with a strange glint on them that made him aware that they were not natural. He had this bored look on his face, or maybe an exhausted expression, but those eyes just seemed to bore right into him.

In the corner opposite of them was a pair of quick looking men, younger than the men opposite of them, but so unlike any of the mercenaries Hugh had seen working for Mann Co that he was not sure what to make of them. One of them looked like he could be a Scout, and the other was just burly in appearance.

“I remember the computer monkeys telling me that there were _four_ Paulings,” Grey Mann said, as he strolled to the center of the room, “Not _five_.”

“What does it matter how many there are?” Antoine asked, defensively.

Miss Pauling spoke up right after him, “You never specified a number. I came with all of the Paulings I had with me.”

Grey glared at the two of them, “Funny.” The big guy in the corner grunted, as if in agreement.

“If you’re done making idle chit chat in the bereavement of hospitality, can we move on?” a Russian woman asked. She was seated in a big black chair that should have had Grey in it, based on its representation of power. She turned in the seat and rose.

“Ever impatient,” Grey noted of the woman.

Hugh looked her over warily. She was wearing a standard RED Spy attire, save for the balaclava, leaving her face and long golden hair revealed. The fit of her suit hugged her curves, making her hip swaying very apparent. She could have been competing with Maurizio for that kind of attention.

In a smooth and familiar motion, she grabbed out a disguise kit and snatched out a cigarette. She put the disguise kit away and with the same motion grabbed her lighter to put a glow of red on the tip of the cigarette. She was quiet through this, perhaps stalling for a moment’s breath.

Hugh surveyed the reactions of others. Miss Pauling had an expression of realization, that kind that one gets when they realized that they should have realized the thing that they are realizing much sooner. Antoine had an irritated expression that did not match the neutral Pauling face he had had before. Maurizio looked curious, one eyebrow slowly climbing upwards. The other Spy – what was his name…Réne? – was looking outraged as he shook from head to foot.

“Excuse me, but you’ll have to catch me up on just what it is that you two have been discussing,” Hugh said.

The Russian woman strolled about the table, putting herself opposite of Grey and closer to those disguised as Pauling. It was a sign to show that she was on their side. Though, given the others’ reactions to her, it did not seem like she was a trustworthy agent.

“Have a seat, Miss Pauling,” Grey said. He had a mischievous look in his eye, with a smirk just ready to spread across his mouth.

One of the others reached for the back of a chair, when Hugh raised a hand to refuse, “No thank you. We prefer to be on our feet.”

“After all of that walking?” Grey pressed, with an innocent tone.

The man had planned this out fairly well. He refused them passage, not even bothering with sending somebody to pick them up. And it was all to tire them out, even after all the fight they had done with the robots. Of course, Grey was renowned for being a clever man, even to those who had never fought his robots in the past.

“Surely you must be exhausted!” Grey man pressed.

Hugh glanced at the others, seeing that they had all put distance between themselves and the chairs. They would not sit down after this refusal. They were working together, which was a good sign.

“And that’s exactly _why_ we shouldn’t sit down. Can we get on with this already? I’m quite tired, and I would like to be finished with you,” Hugh said, putting on Miss Pauling’s most irritated tone.

“Can’t I just shoot them?” the Heavy guy unwrapped his arms to gesture to the gun at his side.

“No no,” Grey raised a hand to keep the man from moving, “I do need Miss Pauling alive. We’re negotiating, not terrorizing.”

“You don’t need Spies. There are too many Spies in here,” the big man growled.

“You do _not_ need to kill anyone,” Grey said, sternly, “I _do_ need Miss Pauling. And you _will_ stop threatening these negotiations.”

“I could shoot any one of these…and they would reveal themselves as a Spy!” the man argued.

“And what’s to say you don’t shoot and kill the real Pauling?” Grey glared at him, “You’re the type that goes for the kill, I would rather you did not kill these negotiations. That _will_ come out of your paycheck by the way.”

“Can we stop arguing about tedious points, and move on?” the Russian woman demanded irritably, gesturing in a circular motion with her wrist.

“Yes of course,” Grey nodded.

“I’ve got a four out of five chance,” the big man argued.

“What?” Grey growled, growing moodier at the interruption.

“He has a point,” the smaller man standing next to him interjected, “Four of them are fakes, so it stands to reason that the chances of shooting the actual Pauling are down to twenty percent. And given their behavioral patterns, you can discern who is the real Pauling and lower your chances greatly.”

“It’s pretty damn obvious,” the big man pointed a thick finger right at Hugh. He felt terrified for the moment, standing under the scrutiny of that finger.

“Now now,” Grey gestured for him to calm down, “There is no need for that.”

Suddenly a gunshot went off and everybody flinched. The shorter man in the opposite corner was holding up a pistol. He was chuckling too now, having shot one of the others.

Hugh’s face grew hot and he felt horrified as he turned to look. Maybe if it had been Antoine or one of the other two Spies, they could have negotiated his life. They would have still had the three disguised Spies to keep Grey off the trail. But no, lo and behold, the man had hit Pauling in the shoulder, clipping her and causing her to fall.

Grey made an angry noise in the back of his throat, “You realize that there are reasons I don’t just use guns for everything?” He was addressing the big man, before he turned to the man who shot. “That is coming out of your paycheck!”

“What? You wanted him to not go for the kill so I went for the _not kill_!” the mercenary protested.

“And I said _no_ guns!” Grey barked at him, before turning back, “Well, it seems that there is no point to _five_ Paulings. You might _as well_ remove your disguises.”

He gave Antoine a look, hoping he understood it. You did not do a thing and change it unless the drastic changes required it. This drastic change did not require them to reveal themselves. Grey Mann knew that they were Spies, but he did not know which Spies. He did not know what they were capable of, not by proximity. Confusion was the key to unravelling a clever man.

He pulled out his disguise kit and looked over his options. A thought occurred to him. They were Spies, but it was not necessary to be a Spy to be capable of using these. They were not too complicated, if one took the time to get used to how the buttons worked. Even a Spy could have difficulty with one of these. But, the confusion of one being used by a non-Spy class would throw Grey off completely.

He picked a disguise and the smoke cloaked him as he changed his appearance to that of a Sniper – Glen to be precise. Grey’s immediate reaction was surprise, but then suspicion. Of course he would be suspicious that it might be a disguise. But, as quickly as Antoine had followed suit, so did the other two, and they were all disguising too quickly for it to be a preplanned occurrence. Hugh could not even believe they timed it so well, following his example without hesitation, to the point that Grey could no longer hold suspicion of them.

Antoine, disguised as the missing Scout, was holding Miss Pauling up off of the ground. She seemed to have missed that whole part where they were exchanging looks, and was utterly surprised to see a Sniper, a Scout, an Engineer and a Demoman. It almost seemed too good, and wished that one of them had accidentally let off his disguise or something.

“Impressive for amateurs,” the Russian woman sat herself on the edge of the table, “Negotiations? Mister Mann? We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, fine,” Grey pinched the bridge of his nose, “Miss Pauling, I would like to offer you a fresh contract. Your agent and I have been hashing and rehashing the details to make it suitable, but I think we came to a fair compromise.”

Pauling shared a look with the woman on the table. They seemed to know each other well enough, so this look meant something. Hugh took it for a cue.

“And what is the nature of these contracts?” he stepped towards Grey, closing the space with an extra-long stride, making it look like he had Glen’s leggy appearance naturally.

Grey shot him a glare, irritated that a sniper was stepping into the negotiations forcefully, “Your agent-” He cut off so he could whip his head around to look to the real Miss Pauling. “Your agent explained that you required an open-air situation,” he told her, “Something looser and more honest for them.”

She looked from him to the papers on the table, “Meaning?”

“Those working under these contracts will have full knowledge of what goes on in Mann Co Productions. They will also be able to go to the city and have normal lives with families, if they so choose,” Grey went on.

The Russian woman was nodding, “With benefits for the family members. Including, but not limited to, a possible prototype of life extension.”

“That is just busy talk,” Antoine interrupted, using his son’s accent, “Get down to the real business, Mann. You got contracts? Well, what if we don’t want ‘em?”

“Pardon me?” Grey blinked at the Spy disguised as a Scout.

“You heard me!” Antoine barked, “What if we don’t want ‘em? What if we’re sick? And we’re tired? And we slum it up in the same old hole, pretending we’re not stuck in some time loop while cameras are fixated on us, capturing all that we do and the people that we are, until we finally hit a bump in the respawn.”

The Russian woman inhaled sharply, “Bump?”

“What exactly do you want from me, Grey?” the real Miss Pauling spoke up, “You want them to work for you? They did. They got fed up.”

“You’re the ring leader, Miss Pauling,” Grey said, in a higher tone, “You should know better than anyone that they are simply restless.”

“Restless?!” the Spy disguised as a Demoman exclaimed, “You call it restless, I call it bullshit! We’ve been fighting for many damn long years, and for what? A pat on the back? A good job? Another few years to remember that you’re alive and everyone you knew is dead? And also, let’s not forget the handlers’ job! The handlers who work day in and day out, taking up your extra missions just to keep other people alive!”

Grey made another ‘calm down’ gesture with his hands, “Now now. There is no need to yell. We can discuss this civilly.”

“I can’t!” the Demoman exclaimed.

“Joshua Forbes,” Grey noted aloud, “I’ve seen your files. You were very impressive on the rating scales for your team. It was…sad to see what happened. Whatever the situation, I believe you were given the short stick in all of this. It is simply unfair is what it is.”

“Don’t try to toy with me in playing sides!” the Spy mimicked the Demoman almost perfectly, as he pointed angrily at Grey, “We are all here because this company is _shit_ and we are taking back our rights as human beings! I am not staying here to be bullied by another generation of self-centered, greedy little Mann descendants!”

There was a moment of pause, but Pauling spoke over whatever Grey was going to respond with, “Let me reiterate. **What do you want**?”

Grey turned to her with a frown, “It’s quite simple, actually.” He spoke in such a matter of fact tone, but it got deeper, almost darker. “I simply want this coup to end. I want you to take these mercenaries back to their jobs with Mann Co. I want the problems dealt with. The loose ends tied up. And…I’m not so cruel as others would believe.” He gave her a toothy smile. “Miss Pauling, I do believe that with delegation, we _can_ work together.”

Miss Pauling’s lips tightened, “That’s hardly acceptable. You know we’re going to turn that down.”

“And to that I say-” Grey cut himself off as he raised a pistol. Where it came from, Hugh had no idea, all he knew was that it was pointed right at his face. “Well…why don’t I just show you what will happen if I take matters into my own hands?” Grey offered, with a sinister smile, “Starting with your Spy here.”

He had little choice, so he grabbed his disguise kit from inside of his jacket. His hands moved too quickly for him to think, or for Grey to see what he did. He put it away as the smoke cleared and cloaked to disguise him as Maurizio, holding a new cigarette and a lighter.

After the smoke cleared, Grey did a double take. His pistol barrel’s aim shifted up from his head, “What?”

Nobody else in the room moved. Everything was quiet and still as they forced their breath to stay in their lungs. Hugh in his panic barely managed the Italian accent, “If you are going to kill me then allow me a smoke, amico.” He tucked the cigarette between his teeth and lit it up.

“Grey don’t,” Miss Pauling said firmly, “Let’s talk about this.”

“I’m talking,” Grey said, “And trying to listen, but all I hear is rebelling. I’ll start with the Italian and make my way around the room until you have no Spies left at all.” He paused to gesture to the next room. “Then, I will off each and every other mercenary you have,” he explained.

Hugh could barely contain his shakiness. He was not afraid of death. This was not the first time and definitely would not be the last, that his life was legitimately threatened by a gun. It was Glen and Andrew whose lives came to mind. He was not even there to try and help them, to tell them to get out of the way or run, or even say goodbye.

“Just stop!” the Spy disguised as Demoman blurted out.

“Stop what?” Grey demanded.

“According to the pre-existing contracts, you cannot kill _him_!” the Demoman barked. Pauling gave him a strange look.

Grey merely laughed, “Your contracts became void when you went against them. You violated their conditions, and in doing so, not only incurred my wrath, but owe the company fines and…retribution is to be had.”

“Sorry,” Pauling said to the Spy disguised as Demoman softly, “You should probably remember that there aren’t contracts anymore.” She raised her head to look at Grey. “Look, I get it. You’re running out of men. The old system dismisses rogues by offing them, and it’s causing the numbers to dwindle. Change the system and your problem is solved!”

Right at that moment, the pistol hiding at the back of Hugh’s calf was feeling quite heavy. He thought about grabbing it. It would not be hard to overwhelm the old man. Even if he grabbed him though, there was the threats at either corner. Those four men may have been just about outnumbered, but they were all armed and ready.

Grey chuckled, “System? Problem? You don’t know _half_ the problem!”

“Are you going to shoot me or not?” Hugh asked, wary of the barrel of the pistol.

“No,” Grey eyed him thoughtfully, “As it stands, I can make you all a deal. Nobody has to get hurt!” He said, as if he was offering them the deal of a lifetime.

Hugh felt relief, but he did not let it on. He glanced over at the others, who were looking to each other. They were still not sure what Grey wanted. Well, they did know what he wanted, but there was always a catch with these things. There had to be a catch somewhere in what Grey said.

“Look, I’ve been…working on a project,” Grey suggested, with a slow and calm voice, “Come and work for me and I promise this whole situation will change.”

“Change how?” Hugh demanded, playing stupid at the wrong end of the gun.

“All of your little friends want out of the mercenary life? Fine, we have a place just for them!” Grey used quite a charming smile, or at least it would be if not for the disproportionate amount of wrinkles and aging on his face.

“What kind of _place_?” the Spy disguised as Demoman pressed, sternly.

“I’m glad you asked!” Grey turned to the door that led to the computer room. He was a little more relieved now as the gun dropped away from him. He snapped the fingers of one hand and called out to somebody in the next room, “Hale! Bring me that briefcase!”

“Hale?” Pauling turned.

They all turned, to see Saxton Hale himself come out of the monitor room, baring a briefcase. He put it on the table and opened it up to reveal papers inside. Grey had already planned for ten or so mercenaries to sign over their futures if not more.

“You expect us to sign these on the spot?” Pauling asked, suspiciously.

“Not at all! Have a look at them,” Grey pushed the briefcase towards her, “Have a look. Have a read. Share your thoughts. Let’s come to an agreement.”

“Now wait a minute,” Antoine stepped forward. Hugh had to do a double take, momentarily mistaking him for his son. “Why would _you_ of all people be so agreeable?”

“What do you have to gain?” Pauling added, with a stern voice.

“Me? I need workers back! Workers like these? They are hard to come by. And…well…let’s just say this kills two problems with one stone,” Grey explained.

“And whatever other problem could that be?” Pauling asked.

“Your vagueness only makes you more suspicious, Mann,” Antoine added.

“The leaks of course!” Grey exclaimed, as if this were obvious.

Hugh shared looks with the others. None of them seemed to understand this. Even Pauling seemed to be left out of the loop. She was not sure what to tell them in this moment.

Grey clicked his tongue, “Miss Pauling, you should know! Of all people, you should know the best! There’s a reason we have Spies disguise as you.”

“A situation I am well aware of and deeply regret, thank you very much,” Pauling said, with defiance all around her form. She was the poised prodigy of a nobleman, by the way she stood there.

“Then you understand what we do with threats to the company’s secrets?” Grey asked, with a shrugging gesture. He was holding the pistol so haphazardly.

“What threats?” Pauling scoffed, “All the company has been doing is targeting the minorities!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grey said, his voice immediately changing to irritable, “We have a high ten percent rate of black employees. About twenty two percent are from South America. And four percent are from Asia.”

“That’s _not_ what I’m talking about,” Pauling slammed a hand on the table.

“If I may interject,” Hugh cut in, as he pondered the numbers.

“No you may not,” Grey raised a hand to silence him.

He frowned, “Ten percent of America’s population…that’s still very small compared to the actual percentage of the population. Then the twenty two percent? And four percent? Those are astoundingly low numbers to think you can boast on. Even railroad companies hired more Easterners than that. And since the company extends beyond the borders of the country, both in hiring and in its work, your calculating for larger scales of people that account for possibly more than the majority of what you have.”

“Are we…are we really discussing this, lad?” the Spy disguised as Demoman asked, with disbelief.

“That’s not the point!” Miss Pauling cut in, “You’ve been targeting my employees! For what? For nothing! They’ve done nothing outside of their line of work. It’s bullshit!”

“I don’t understand,” Grey continued to play dumb.

Pauling growled with frustration, “Being homosexual is _not_ a problem. It’s your own personal problem!”

Grey blinked at her with a look of disbelief. Hale looked like he had missed something that had been said, completely overlooking whatever they were talking about. The other mercenaries were dead silent. The tension was so taut that one could cut it with a knife.

“There was even one being targeted at a base, only a day after he-” the Spy disguised as an Engineer cut off as the others looked at him.

Grey cleared his throat, “They are a problem. A threat to the ratings of the company’s productions. You see, we can’t stay in business if we-”

“That’s inexcusable!” Pauling rounded on him.

“Pardon me, madam?” Grey gave her a warning glare, as he took a step back. It was easy to read how much temper was building up in the mousy little woman.

“You’re murdering people and they don’t even know that they’re doing something wrong! This is a huge problem!” she exclaimed.

“Well, we can’t tell them,” Grey argued, “That is a greater threat to the company’s prosperity than anything.” He paused for a moment, before going on. “Miss Pauling, you’re making this very difficult for all of you. If you really don’t want the offer, I can just kill you all off,” he turned to the door, “Come with me.”

He headed into the room and everybody paused. The Spies shared looks, before they shuffled in after Grey. Hale took the back of the line, as they made their way in. It was not a very roomy space, after all, being small and made up of rows of tables and chairs with people monitoring cameras.

Many of the monitors were down, but a few of them were up. Grey approached one and pointed to the screen. He turned to give Pauling a smug smile.

“Let’s see…how about that Engineer?” he tapped the controller’s shoulder and the Scoutbot on the screen came to life. It grabbed the man, who tried to flee, and shot him through the head.

“No stop!” Pauling cried out.

It was too late. The damage was done and the other mercenaries were starting to panic. Scoutbots were picking them up again, forcing them off of the ground and squeezing them too hard. Hugh felt dread fill him as he searched the screen for signs of Andrew or Glen. They had to be there somewhere.

“Stop! You didn’t have to do that!” Pauling protested.

“Apparently I did, Miss Pauling,” Grey went on.

“Fine, what are these new positions you are offering?” she demanded, hastily.

“Basic work as actors,” Grey said dismissively, “Working in advertising and skit takes. Doing the things that normal people can’t do without the experience, that they could not have done without knowing a camera was on them.”

“And you are offering this to all of them? Protection?” she demanded.

Hugh’s eyes were distracted by the monitor and the people running around the Scoutbots. He pleaded and begged that Andrew and Glen were okay. He begged that some force of nature would keep them alive and well.

“Yes, Miss Pauling,” Grey replied, tartly.

“Forgive me,” Miss Pauling replied, just as nastily, “But you have a history of stabbing people in the back.”

“I never go against a contract,” he insisted. He pulled a contract from the briefcase, as it was held out by Hale. “Sign yours and we can begin negotiations for you to start your own little projects.”

“Projects…” Miss Pauling’s words trailed off.

“What projects?” the Spy disguised as the Engineer asked, with a worried tone, “What kind of projects?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Grey asked, with a smug smirk.

“It’s not important,” Pauling said hastily, “I want the violence to end. These men want safety and security. As do about two hundred others.”

“We can’t all have what we want all at once. Let’s start with the twenty or so that you have here,” Grey offered.

“Miss Pauling no!” the Russian woman suddenly stepped into all of this.

“Would you stay out of this?” Hale turned on the woman.

“Why don’t you? You big hairy ape! I have spent too many hours with Grey trying to negotiate the terms and-” the woman was waved off by Pauling’s hand.

“You did your best,” Pauling looked over the contract in her hand. She started reading it, looking at what she was supposed to do. “All we can do now is the best for everybody else.”

“Miss Pauling…” Antoine spoke up.

“It’s a little late to be worried about whether we’re signing or not,” Pauling interrupted him.

Pauling sighed and took a pen from one of the tables. She grabbed the contract and pushed it against Hale’s arm. She used his bulging bicep to sign her name, then handed it to Hale.

Grey chuckled, smugly. “Very good,” Grey glanced over the contract, “Now the others.”

Pauling sighed and glanced at the Spies. Her eyes then turned to the monitor, staring at the panicked people. She looked at them, but Hugh wondered if she saw their faces. Considering how passionately she fought in this, or perhaps how quickly she gave up, she might feel a little too connected to some of them. Perhaps even feeling responsible for all of them.

“What about you?” Antoine shook him out of his thoughts as he was handed a contract. He took it and looked it over. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Antoine asked, looking like he was sweating bullets.

Hugh shook his head, “No, I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may have been too many Spies involved for one meeting.
> 
> Edit: I fixed the formatting issue. Sorry, I did not see that before.  
> Also, I have decided that there will be two more chapters before the story finishes.


	41. Grey Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gray wins! But uh...not on his terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all winding down. I feel like there is so much to say about this chapter. Strange to look back and see that I had a whole different ending planned for this. I like how it turned out.

Pauling let out a breath as she signed the very last line. Grey guided her through each page, given she had not realized there were so many lines to sign. It felt like they were signing away their histories, their futures and their souls.

“Well?” Grey looked at the Spies.

Hugh looked at the contract in his hand. The words became a meaningless blur as he tried to read them. This seemed like something that he should be talking about with Andrew.

The man had some mental health problems, but that did not make him stupid. On the contrary, that seemed like even more reason to talk about this with him. And if Hugh signed away his life, he was expecting his lover to do the same.

“Do you _still_ have hang ups about the contracts?” Grey asked, irritably.

“A few minor details,” Antoine said, flipping through the pages. He did not seem to be having any issue looking over the contract. “I would like to rediscuss a few things. Perhaps a more temporary contract until these can be ironed out?”

Hugh liked the suggestion. A temporary contract was a good idea. He had one of those a while back, when he was waiting to get Andrew back. Now Andrew was back in his life and he was much happier for it.

“Some of us have people to discuss this with before making the decision,” Hugh waved the contract at Grey.

Grey looked at the others to see if they agreed. Then, he looked at the monitor screen. He had this haughty look, like he was ready to order for another mercenary to be killed off. Most of the controllers monitoring the screens were partway turned, wanting to see what came out of this dramatic meeting.

Antoine finally nodded, “This changes their lives too.”

Pauling’s expression started falling apart. She looked like she might crumble. It was hard to watch, while wanting to reach out and catch the poor girl. Nobody wanted to see her fall into this alone, to be contracted and watch everybody else take a fall.

“If you don’t sign,” Grey pointed at Hugh’s contract, then tapped the screen of a monitor, “Well…you don’t really have a choice, do you?”

Hugh looked to the screen, realizing who he was putting in danger by refusing. His hands tightened on the paper, while his heart pounded harder in his chest. He could not refuse and put them at risk.

“I’ll sign it,” the Spy disguised as the Engineer grabbed his contract, put it on his bent knee and smacked it into the briefcase that Hale was still holding. He turned to Grey, “I have no hang ups, but I will tell you this: you’ve messed with the wrong mercenaries.”

Grey said nothing in response, he just looked over at Miss Pauling. She was visibly relieved as she turned to the man disguised as an Engineeer. She was at least not alone, even if he did not seem to intend for this to be for her.

“You’re not even going to give us a chance to talk to the others?” Antoine spoke up.

“You either sign it…” Grey’s thumb played with the hammer of his pistol, “Or you don’t. It’s that simple. Easy really. Isn’t it? Hale thought it was. Not so easy on the uptake, but…”

Everybody turned to Hale who sunk in on himself. For the first time, a little bit of humiliation revealed that Grey had done something. Whatever Hale was doing now, it was not what he wanted to be doing. There was a slight look of distress though, as the man who usually showed fear to nothing and nobody looked like he was going to throw up. Whatever Grey had on him, it had to be worse than average blackmail.

Hugh strode back into the room they were in previously and signed the contract. He went through each page, noting that each thing had to be revisited later. All of this would be revisited later.

“You’re not going to even wait for temporary contracts?” the Russian woman finally spoke up, if too late.

“What choice do you have?” Grey asked.

Hugh returned to the monitor room to put his contract into the briefcase, “Done.”

Grey turned to the female Spy with a smile, “And you, my dear?”

“Me? I haven’t breached anything,” she snorted indignantly.

“What?” Antoine looked surprised.

“As surprising as that may seem to _you_ , I actually have kept a good rep in my sector,” the woman explained, “My place is with my team…violent or not.”

“Very well. That works out,” Grey nodded. He looked like an eager carnivore staring at meats over flames as the others signed their contracts and put them in the briefcase.

“Very good,” Grey said, rubbing his palms together.

“About revisiting those details-” Miss Pauling started, but she was cut off by a wave of Grey’s hand.

“We’ll come to that in three years’ time,” he told her, sternly.

“Three years?” the Spy disguised as the Engineer sounded surprise.

“Are you dense? Did you not read?” the one disguised as the Demoman exclaimed.

“Did you? We barely have time for it!” the one disguised as the Engineer argued.

Hugh would not admit it, but he barely had a chance to read over it. Even when he had tried, it just amounted to meaningless nothing. All of it meant nothing.

He took a deep breath, “The others will be wondering where we’ve-”

“Sir! They’ve started a coup!” one of the people monitoring the Scoutbots exclaimed.

“They’ve gotten their hands on weapons, sir!” another added.

“They had weapons before!” Grey argued, with frustration. He turned to the monitors to see that the fray of panic had turned into a fire fight.

“Nearly half of our Scoutbots are down sir,” a woman added.

“Nearly half?!” Grey exclaimed angrily.

“We’re losing control!” another man added, extremely focused on the Scoutbots now.

“Sir, they are overrunning the Scoutbots,” another person said, “Shall we return fire?”

Grey paused, looking from the Spies and Pauling to the monitor, “Use the necessary force.”

“Sir?” a young man pressed for clarification.

“Open fire, if absolutely necessary,” Grey added.

“Open fire, if absolutely necessarily,” this became echoed through the monitor room as they started having the Scoutbots fight.

“Noo!” Hugh shouted, “No! You can’t do that! You can’t! You promised you wouldn’t!”

“I did not properly promise not to protect my interests,” Grey argued, as he made his way out the door, “And you would do well to protect my interests too. I would get down there if I were you. Calm down your troops, Miss Pauling.”

Hale and Grey left together. The four Spies and Pauling ran outside to try and stop him, but he had thought of everything. Wherever he got a helicopter and got it here so quietly, Hugh would never know. All he knew for sure was that it was taking their contracts and all chances of taking this back with them.

“We have to stop the fighting!” the Spy named Maurizio decloaked from the Engineer disguise.

“What?” the Spy still disguised as Demoman looked utterly surprised.

“We don’t have much time,” Antoine added, as he decloaked.

“Let’s move out! We’ll have to run!” Miss Pauling added, taking off down the street. They all followed in pursuit of the mousy woman.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Panic struck the crowd of mercenaries and everybody was running around in a flurry of bodies trying to escape imminent death. Andrew was not fast enough to get even a step away from the Scoutbot. Somehow these bots’ intelligence was higher than normal bots. He could not imagine how they managed to think so much faster than normal bot.

“Let go of me, you wankers!” Glen was crying out, as he was hugged by a Scoutbot.

Andrew was glad that it was a torso level hug, rather than grabbing him by the head again. That was simply not a sensation that he was willing to live through again.

“What do we do?” Andrew called out, hoping for an answer. Normally, Hugh would be nearby, but he was nowhere to be found.

It felt so lonely without Hugh there. He felt bad for needing him so much. But there was something empty. The vastness of the hole he left when he was gone made Andrew feel like the world was spinning out of control.

“Think…think…what would Spy do?” Glen was saying aloud, “He always had one of those sapper things on him.”

“Sappers…” Andrew looked around. He had not seen it before, but somewhere hidden beneath some leaves was a dropped sapper.

“Bloody…” Glen looked around, “Gotta get our hands on that one.

“How?” Andrew asked, looking over at the Sniper.

The taller man managed to get a rock off of the ground, a small jagged pebble just lying by his foot. He hefted the little thing in his palm, before he chucked it at the RED Scout standing nearby.

“Ow! Hey! What the-?” Scout turned to look at them, glaring them down. Glen pointed to the sapper and Andrew did the same.

It took two whole minutes to get the younger mercenary to look at the ground. It took him another minute for him to find what they were pointing at, not three feet from him. The Scout cautiously crouched, one arm held over his head by the Scoutbot. Fortunately, whoever was driving it was either not paying attention or could not see.

Once the Scout got a hold of the sapper he jumped up. Andrew held his breath, watching as the Scout smacked the Scoutbot on the head with the sapper. He landed on his feet, only to find that the Scoutbot had no reaction, the sapper falling to the ground.

“What?” the Scout exclaimed.

With the Scoutbot frozen in place, the Scout reached down to grab the sapper again. He turned it over in one hand to look at it. Not that that did any good, given that he did not know what he was looking for.

“It’s broken!” the Scout raised his arm to throw it.

“Toss it here,” Glen called to him.

The Scout threw it to him, and Glen caught it with one hand. He turned it over in his hand, growling to himself. “How do you work this darn thing?” he turned it over and over, looking for a button.

“Give it here,” Andrew held out a hand.

Glen gave him a suspicious look, “Don’t break it.” He carefully hefted the sapper, before tossing it to Andrew.

He barely caught it. Having only one hand made it difficult. He looked at the sapper briefly, and tried to remember if he had ever seen Hugh use one up close. Sure he had seen Spies use them, but he was usually a distance away from them. He was pretty sure there was some form of elegance behind it. Somehow, he figured that if he tried setting it on the very top of the Scoutbot the way a Spy would set it on top of a dispenser, it would work. He hopped up, using the hand that was gripped as leverage, and he reached up. Unfortunately, gravity had other ideas and he ended up smacking it against the robot’s head.

Sparks flew and the bot seemed to get dizzy. It made noises and its head lost control, until something inside of it blew up.

“Alright! Go Soldier!” the Scout cheered. Several others noticed and suddenly the attention was on Andrew.

“Help me out, mate,” the Sniper called his attention.

Now freed of his robotic captor, he hurried over. He used his momentum to jump up and slam the sapper against the robot’s head. Sparks flew and this one once again exploded from the inside.

“Why weren’t we using those before?” Glen asked.

“Beats me!” the RED Scout called, “Me next! My turn!”

Andrew rushed at his bot and jumped up to slam the sapper against its head. The same results occurred and they got to smile as they watched it fall to the ground.

“A good robot is a dead one,” the Sniper chuckled.

“That is not a good robot, dead or otherwise,” the Scout pointed to the fallen Scoutbot.

Andrew glanced around. None of the other Scoutbots were reacting to this. As the Scoutbots fell, they had no reaction. As they picked up the sapper, they had no reaction. It was as if the controllers no longer paid attention to them.

He smacked the sapper into the Scout’s gut, pushing it into his hands, “Go smack those robots over their stupid metal heads!” He turned and ran to grab a rocket launcher, “Let’s give ‘em hell boys!”

The others reacted accordingly. Much to his relief, the Scout was able to move faster than him, so he knocked down six already. The others started getting free and ran for weapons to take down the robots.

When the Scoutbots finally reacted, it was too late. They were almost beaten, by Andrew’s standards. They had a good six robots down, there was no coming up from that. Even when they managed to grab a mercenary’s arm, they were already armed with weapons that could blow heads off. This time, they were ready for the Scoutbots too. This time, they knew just how fast they really were.

Being ready did not help entirely. The Scoutbots were armed, and they started shooting back. A Medic fell, crying out in pain as he bled out through his chest. A Heavy took bullets to the shoulder, but somehow kept going. A dispenser went up beside the Heavy, to help with his wound, but the Engineer was shot down.

Andrew charged through the fray, then launched himself into the air. He did not have a shovel on him this time. Instead, he had grabbed a Scoutbot’s arm. He brought it down on one of their heads, and it turned out to be just heavy enough to smash its cranium in.

The thing made a whirring sound and then fell, losing control of its balance. Andrew chuckled smugly as he launched himself again. He came down on another Scoutbot, howling with absolute nostalgic thrill in this moment.

“Soldier!” an Engineer’s familiar voice caught him off guard. He landed and turned to see Dooley standing with his shotgun.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We’ve got them down! We’ve got maybe five minutes before any kind of back up can arrive!” he motioned to a truck.

He turned around to see that the street was filled with broken Scoutbots. Their parts were scattered everywhere. Glen was already at his truck, clambering in to try and start it up. Others were trying to pick up the fallen and drag them to the trucks.

Andrew frowned, “What about H- er Spy and the others?”

“We can’t do anything about them now, Solly,” Dooley put a hand on his arm.

He pulled his arm away, “No man left behind!”

“We have to get out of here, Soldier!” the Engineer exclaimed.

“We are _not_ leaving them behind!” Andrew declared, growing frustrated with the Engineer.

“Soldier…” the Engineer frowned, looking between Andrew and the vehicles. Some of them simply would not drive, so they were cramming into the couple that would start up and still had their wheels in place.

“I’m not leaving them behind,” Andrew reaffirmed his position, “Miss Pauling will come back!”

“Miss Pauling is dead,” the Engineer took his helmet off to shuffle it in his hands.

“What?” Andrew turned to him, disbelieving.

“Listen…” Dooley spoke slowly, reserving his words for only meaningful things to say, “I know you mean well. We would all like to be the brave soldiers that stick it out until the end to find their friends were indeed alive. Let’s face it, Sol. The Scoutbots attacked for a reason. They don’t need us anymore. It was all a distraction. Pulling Miss Pauling away got the Spies to go away. Turned out that all we needed were sappers, and Spies are good at using them. Grey has been one step ahead of us this whole time. If they are not dead yet, then they are going to be, but they are there. We are not there, we are here. We cannot help them. Not this time.”

“Engie,” Andrew puffed up his chest, defiantly refusing to think about what the man was explaining, “I am going to stay here. I don’t care if everybody leaves without me. I will trudge up that road myself.”

“What would Spy do?” Dooley asked.

Andrew fell silent. He was not really sure what Spy would do in his place. Perhaps if it was Spy, he would have some sort of plan behind this whole thing, to go take down Grey. That also seemed like a bit of a stretch, since Hugh did not like confrontation, being a Spy and all.

“If I was captured by Grey?” he asked, as he fumbled over he is thoughts.

“Nah,” Dooley shook his head, “Let’s say he’s over there…watching over the monitors. Let’s say he can see you standing here in the street, waiting like an idiot. He knows he’s going to die and he’s got one wish left before his death.”

Andrew bit the inside of his lip, chewing on it laboriously. He did not want to think about Hugh dying. It could not happen. His Spy was too clever for Grey.

“What’s the one thing he would want you to do?”

“Go save him?” Andrew suggested, feeling meek at his pathetic suggestion.

Dooley shook his head and put his helmet back on. He sighed and tucked his hands into his overall pockets. He kicked at the dirt beneath his boot, keeping his eyes away from the Soldier’s.

“Soldier,” he finally raised his gaze to meet Andrew’s eyes, “I know you care about him. I know you want what’s best for everybody. You were made a solid good Soldier. Probably one of the best, in my opinion. Well…there comes a time when…every Soldier’s got to know when to fall back.”

Andrew bit his lip until it bled into his mouth. It was all over his tongue and tinting his saliva. He swallowed but it barely contained his tears. He felt like there was pain all over his body.

“You’re good at reminding people how to be good soldiers,” Dooley went on, barely missing a beat, “You’re real good at what you do. Kindest man I ever known, working with the likes of criminal scum, sociopaths and psychopaths. I think it’s time that somebody stepped in and reminded you how to be good to yourself. He’d want you to leave this place, before anymore Scoutbots can show up.”

Andrew wanted to open his mouth and say that this was what Hugh did for him. He stepped into his life and reminded him how to take care of himself. He reminded him when to take his pills, he reminded him of the real world, he grounded him in reality, he pulled him aside when he needed to calm down, he made him smile when everybody else was bringing him down and he especially made sure that the Soldier stayed alive. Hugh was not here to answer the question for himself, so Andrew had to fill in the blanks with Dooley’s words.

“Grey’s gonna be sending them any minute now,” Dooley said, “You coming?”

Andrew shook off his thoughts and looked to see the shorter man offering him a hand. It was like an offering of friendship, of truce and kindness. It was like a soldier carrying _him_ off the battlefield. Still, leaving behind another soldier never did his mind any good.

“And what if he’s alive?” he asked, “What if he’s too clever for Grey?”

“Then he’s clever enough to find his way to where we’re going,” Dooley nodded, giving his hand a firm jolt to get Andrew’s attention.

With a reluctant sigh, Andrew took the hand and let himself be guided to the Sniper’s camper. He stopped at the door though, as a thought occurred to him.

“Scout!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Dooley gave him a confused look.

“Let’s go!” Sniper called from his driver’s seat.

“Hold on! I have to go back for Scout. He can’t bring himself,” Andrew insisted.

He turned and rushed from the camper and into the forest. His eyes followed the trees around them, hurriedly. He was more than relieved when he found the spot that he was looking for. A small gasp came from the body beneath the branches and Andrew gave a big grin.

“You’re alright, son! We’re getting out of here!” he proclaimed as he quickly unburied the Scout.

“Oh thank God!” the Scout sagged with a sigh of relief.

“Sol, you get his arms, I’ll get his legs,” Dooley offered.

“Uh, I can walk myself!” the Scout spat.

“What’s wrong with you then?” Dooley asked.

The Scout waved a hand in front of his face, “Can’t see a damn thing!”

Andrew took the younger mercenary’s arm and helped him to his feet. Despite his claim, Scout was actually very unsteady. It was like he had forgotten how to walk and had to not only be guided, but be aided in how to step. He kept a firm hold on the arm he wrapped over his shoulders, making sure the Scout did not fall over.

“This’ll take all night,” Dooley pressed, “We need to hurry before more Scoutbots get here!”

“Scoutbots?” Scout flinched.

“Alright, alright,” Andrew shifted, pulling the arm off of his shoulders to hook his own arms under his armpits.

Dooley nodded and took the Scout’s legs right out from under him. Scout yipped in surprise, but did not protest as they carried him at a brisk walk through the forest to the camper. There, they gently lifted him inside, demanding he be given a spot on the couch until they managed to get a Heavy to move off. They set him there and turned to get themselves situated.

The camper was already full of people, so they had to sit on the floor, squished between quickly loaded gun parts and each other. He pressed back to back with Dooley to relax and hopefully rest after a long and stressful day.

 

*********************************************************************

 

All Hugh could think about was Andrew. He had to be okay. He had to be among the ones living. He expected they would not be greeted too nicely for being gone so long either. Mercenaries being mercenaries, the other members of their large group had not been very patient.

“Almost there!” Pauling panted.

“We’re keeping up, we’re keeping up!” Maurizio huffed.

“I’ve never regretted a lifestyle choice as much as I do right now,” he heard Antoine mutter just to the left of him.

They were not worried about Snipers or cameras this time. This time they were in too much of a hurry to care. They had to stop the uprising before it got out of hand and everybody got shot by Scoutbots.

“Dammit! Why couldn’t Grey be patient?” Maurizio hissed.

“Whatever the case, we’re down an Engineer,” Bleu added.

“God dammit,” Pauling panted, “God dammit!” For a while, she just did that, panting heavily and muttering expletives. She cursed herself the whole way there.

Hugh did not believe his eyes. They were looking at a battlefield made of a street and littered with robot parts. All of the Scoutbots were downed and some pulled apart. The giant Heavybot was even sitting there, slumped over in its useless state.

Two vehicles were missing, and the rest were useless in the states that they were in. Aside from a few corpses and some blood, there were no other signs of humans.

He looked around, searching for clues for what happened. There were no evident signs of Andrew though. An arm of a Demoman laid in the middle of the street. The executed Engineer still lay where he had been shot. A Medic laid face down in a puddle of blood, his arm pulled out of its socket.

A few people had died here, but there was no definitive answer as to whether Andrew was alive. There was nothing to hint that Glen was even there either. There was not even a sniper rifle in sight. He could have guessed that the man drove the camper, but that was just based on assumption. The keys had been left in the vehicles, as everybody had been in too much of a hurry to worry about somebody stealing their vehicles.

“They’re gone,” Pauling said, breathily. She dropped down next to the downed Medic, laying a hand on his head. She almost seemed like she was praying for him.

“They’ve all gone,” Maurizio was laughing.

“What are you so giddy about?” Bleu asked, tartly.

“They got away!” Maurizio laughed.

“I fail to see where that is a laughing matter,” Hugh growled. He glanced around to find that Antoine had disappeared. He had been certain that the man was at his side before this, but now he was just gone.

“Don’t you see?” Maurizio barely suppressed his laughter, “We’re the ones who got fucked. They started a riot, had a blast and got out of dodge!”

“They’ve…they’ve left,” Hugh finally breathed. Andrew was still alive. No part of him had been left behind here. From his deductions, only three mercenaries died here. Anybody else was either alive and well or being tended to by a Medic in one of the two vehicles that had disappeared.

Pauling nodded as she rose to her feet, “Let’s hope they use that to their advantage.”

She clenched her hand into a fist. A small sob escaped her.

“Miss Pauling?” Hugh grew concerned. It was bad enough that one Spy was laughing, though he could figure that into a series of mental problems he probably had before this, given his past of odd behavior that was given a pass due to charismatic personality traits.

“I failed,” she whimpered, “I…I gave up…I quit. I failed.”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Nothing stopped Antoine from running. Not the bodies on the ground or the blood everywhere. The Scoutbots were hardly an ounce of concern.

He kept his feet moving as he barreled through the pain in his lungs. He did not even stop to investigate the scene. He had no time, because he had to know.

He almost did not find it. He almost looked right past it. When he looked right at the spot, it was empty. Drake was gone.

Already panting heavily, he felt like he had no chance to stop himself from crying. There was no blood, or any signs of a struggle, but it hurt so bad to breathe. There was nothing to hint that the boy had been hurt, but there was a searing pain in his chest.

He leaned against the tree with one hand, panting until he almost vomited. When he could stand up straight again, he shakily walked back to the street. He lit a cigarette along the way, trying to calm the shakiness of his hands. It did him no good, as the panting and shaking continued.

“Miss Pauling?” Hugh said, looking surprised and a bit concerned.

Nearby, Maurizio was smiling from ear to ear, with tears already falling from his eyes. Bleu was standing right next to him, contrasting him with the grouchiest expression, and arms folded over his chest. That was a pair he would never understand.

“I failed,” Pauling whimpered, “I…I gave up…I quit. I failed.” She let out another sob, shaking where she stood.

Antoine looked around, trying to pick up context. There were at least two mercenaries dead. It was likely that the Demoman that the arm belonged to was dead, unless the Medics had time and energy to deal with the problem. An arm was certainly not something to scoff at, as the man could probably bleed to death.

He went to stand by his old friend. The man was watching Miss Pauling, but Antoine could feel his peripheral gaze. They both had people here to worry about. They both had a reason to burn themselves out to get to this place.

“They’ve gone,” Hugh spoke softly.

Antoine gave a small nod, “They took Drake.”

Hugh gave a nod back, “No signs of other deaths. Two vehicles. Barely enough for what they took.”

“If they headed up the road, they could have found their way out to the freeway,” Antoine suggested, “If we hurry we can-”

“Are you suggesting we catch up to them?” Hugh asked, suddenly turning to him.

He turned to the other, a little confused. It had been a while since they were on opposing sides of anything. It felt just a little jarring to be facing off with square shoulders this way.

“What did _you_ have in mind?” he asked.

Hugh shrugged, “Not following them.”

Antoine frowned at that, “That seems illogical.”

“They got away,” Hugh pulled out a cigarette and lit it, “We’re contracted with Grey now. If we chase after them, Grey is chasing them. If we catch up to them, then Grey has caught them.”

“What Grey doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Antoine replied sternly.

“It’s never so simple,” Bleu interrupted their discussion.

Maurizio sighed, “I’m glad. Our friends got away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last action chapter. The next chapter will basically just be wrapping up the series to let on to what everybody's going to be doing when they pop up in the next story, Men of Gold.  
> I am currently working on a timeline that I will post, to hopefully make it easier to see the timeline of Mann Co Production's stories.


	42. That's a Wrap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concluding paragraphs of They are Called Family

It did not take the Spies and Pauling long to reconvene at the nearest Mann Co Productions location. They broke up their little group and went separate ways. Antoine stuck to Hugh though, in a weird sort of way. He had expected the man to go off and try to figure out how to get his son back.

He did not complain, as they got into the new car issued to Antoine. Having worked as a handler for so long had its benefits, and it allowed Hugh some rest. He could not sleep though, not for worrying about the others. At least he could enjoy some form of company, instead of falling into loneliness in his work.

“Gray wants us up in Toronto by the week’s end,” Antoine said, as if making small conversation.

“Gray wants a lot of things,” Hugh growled.

“If you need to sleep, you can just-” Antoine offered, but was cut off when Hugh raised a hand.

“Thank you, but not now,” he said.

Antoine was quiet after that. Hugh studied his face out of the corner of his eye. Sharp features made him look more pointed and focused. It was a particular shape of face, but one that had all the right characteristics to fall right into the model of charming.

Hugh touched his own face, but felt fabric. A lifetime of working with Mann Co almost trumped the year he spent away from it. He had forgotten he was even wearing it. It was like a part of him. He rolled it up from the neck and pulled it over his head.

Antoine gasped, “You’re not stripping in my car!”

“I’m not stripping,” Hugh shot him a glare, “I am trying to breathe.” He folded the balaclava and set it in his lap.

Antoine was hyper focused on the road now, but little twitches gave him away. He was studying Hugh in his peripheral vision. It seemed a little off.

“Is everything alright?” Hugh asked, “This is not the first you have seen my face.”

Antoine cleared his throat, “It’s been a long time.”

“So? You’re not sweet on me,” he let the words jest and kept the humor out of his tone.

“No no…it’s just weird seeing your face again,” Antoine said, sparing him a full glance, “Familiar but not.”

“Familiar but not?” Hugh inquired.

“Your face grew old,” Antoine replied.

Both men burst into laughter. It broke up the tension between them and the silence died down. It was nice to finally be at some kind of peace, after the day they had. They both needed it, that was certain.

 

The two of them arrived at the familiar little house. It was quiet, as the lights were out in this early morning hour. It was no time to be knocking on the woman’s door, though she would probably just sleep another hour before being up to take care of the baby.

“Are you sure about this?” Antoine asked him, as he opened the passenger door, “You said before that chasing the others would be catching them for Gray.”

Hugh paused and closed his eyes. Glen was no Spy, he could not think or do anything like a Spy. That was why it was so easy for him as a Spy to find Glen wherever he went. It was rarely hard to find such a face.

“Gray has no interest in civilians,” he stated, stepping out of the car.

Antoine followed suit and was about to light a cigarette. Hugh shook his head, reminding him that they were going into a smoke-free house. Melisa did not like cigarettes and he would be respectful towards her about it.

He took a deep breath, “The best thing we can do for them is to keep them out of Gray’s sights. As long as he doesn’t know-”

Antoine cut him off, “You think he doesn’t know that one of the top tier Snipers has a fiancé?”

Hugh bit on his lip, “Well, they aren’t officially _engaged_ , but-”

“He knows,” Antoine said hotly.

“Point is to keep her out of the line of sight,” Hugh argued, “She was already in hot water once. You saw how well Mann Co handled that.”

“That was an embarrassment,” Antoine nodded in agreement.

“That is why, for her and the baby, she has to be hidden,” Hugh explained, as he headed up the porch steps.

“Do you think she’ll put up a fight?” Antoine asked.

“Oh, undoubtedly!” Hugh gave him a nod, “But let’s hope she has sense enough to see where safety lies for her daughter.” He pressed the doorbell and hoped to God that Melisa was decent when she answered it.

 

*********************************************************************

 

Melisa was fast asleep when the doorbell woke her. It startled her little girl, who was stretched out beside her, resting her head on her mommy’s arm. When a second ring was not heard, the girl closed her eyes.

Melisa gently slid her arm out and replaced it with a pillow. Esperanza barely reacted to this, keeping her eyes closed with the desire to sleep. Relieved, Melisa grabbed her robe off the door and wrapped it tight around herself. It was actually a robe for Glen, one she had gotten him for Christmas, and he wore it whenever he was there. She liked wearing it when he was not there, getting the smell of him wrapped around her like his warm arms.

She sighed as she tied the sash and rushed down the stairs to answer the door. She opened it cautiously, but she realized too late that it was not cautiously enough. She gaped with wide eyes at the two men before her, one with a red mask to add to his red suit, and the other in a red suit with his face plainly displayed.

Terror struck her and she fumbled for the door. She had to slam it shut and get Esperanza out of there. Mann Co had come for her. She did not know what Glen was really up to, but now it had gotten real and she was in danger.

“Melisa?” the unmasked man spoke with a kind tone.

She blushed, knowing that voice too well not to know who it was, “O-oh! S-spy!” She fumbled for something more intelligent to say than that.

“Is Glen here?” the unmasked Spy asked.

She slowly shook her head, while dread sank in her belly. He was here with some other Spy, not with Andrew. Glen was nowhere to be seen either.

“N-no,” she managed to say.

His face was unchanging. There was no sudden frown at that, which would have inferred that something was wrong. Still, she had to ask, “Is something wrong?”

He glanced back at the masked Spy, who shrugged at him. He turned back to her and said, “Glen is fine. I just thought he might have come here. My associate and I are here to relocate you.”

She shook her head, trying to shake off sleepiness as well as refuse his proposal, “What? No! You can’t! If Glen comes back-”

“If Glen needs to come back here, he will find what he needs to see. No blood. No struggle. No destruction,” the Spy informed her.

“What kind of trouble is he in?” she asked, warily.

“No trouble,” he waved off the suggestion, “He just pissed somebody off. However, you and Esperanza need to stay well away from the line of sight of that…person.” His associate nodded in agreement.

“Then what would relocating me again do? How would that be any different than all the times before?” she demanded.

He cast a slightly irritated glance at his associate. They seemed rather impatient. By looks alone, they both seemed rather tired. The unmasked Spy certainly had an unkempt look about his hair that could easily be explained by wearing a mask and not being awake enough to take the time to fix it.

“Why should I trust you, even?” she added.

His associate quirked an eyebrow at him. It was right out of his line of sight. She wondered if it was supposed to mean something.

“You’re right,” the unmasked Spy replied, “I came here with my mask off and in a red suit instead of a blue one, of course you would not recognize me. I came here with little time to worry about the color of my suit. And now I’m without a mask, asking that you trust me. You know a lot about Mann Co. You know a lot about the shows and about how it all works. You’re even smarter than Glen. So, I trust that you will know what it means when I touch you.” He took his glove off as he spoke and then he reached out to put his hand on her arm.

His hand was real. No smoke revealed him to be a fake. He was the real Spy, Glen’s friend.

She stepped back, holding the door open to admit them into the house. She took a breath, thinking over what to do next. Letting in two Spies, one of which she did not even know, into her house was not a very smart move for a supposedly smart woman.

“Have a seat in the parlor. I have to get Esperanza ready,” she told them.

 

The little car she drove was the only vehicle they took, leaving the small red car behind. With Esperanza fast asleep in the back seat, the masked Spy drove them through the city to some supposed location.

“Spy?” she spoke softly, not sure that she trusted the other Spy.

“Call me Hugh,” the unmasked Spy requested. He was seated in the front, giving the other Spy directions.

“Hugh?” she paused, trying to remember if she knew the name. No, she was fairly certain that he had been called by Jacques before. Then again, it was possible that he switched between names to keep people guessing.

The Spies looked at each other for a long while, before the masked Spy sighed, “Antoine.”

“Antoine?” she paused, feeling an automatic response of relief.

“What is it, Melisa?” Hugh asked.

“Where…exactly are we going? And does Glen know?” she asked.

Hugh sighed, “Glen doesn’t know.”

“Why?” she felt alarmed and defensive.

“We lost contact with him a while ago,” he explained.

“You lost contact?” she asked, feeling a bit panicked. That could mean a few things, but primarily that they did not know at the moment that Glen was okay.

“During the situation of pissing somebody off, we got separated,” he explained, “And I believe it is safer for you and Esperanza to hide someplace a Spy would not find you.”

“And why is this going to be any different from before? We’ve moved a dozen times since Esperanza was born! I’m tired of moving! I finally found a house I love! I couldn’t even fit all the things I wanted to take with me,” she felt frustrated at the situation she was in.

“If you did not want to go into hiding, you did not have to let us in the house,” Antoine noted.

Hugh shot him a glare as he turned in his seat to better face Melisa, “I know you’re scared and upset. If we have the chance, we’ll try to get the rest of your things. If not, Glen will have to pick them up. I’m sorry, but this isn’t about the house or car or anything. This is about your safety, and your daughter’s safety.”

Melisa sniffled as a lump filled her throat. She wanted Glen to be here so badly. She thought she was okay with him going to work with his friends. She had been sure it would be a weekend thing. Then he would come home the next weekend. Everything would be fine.

“We’ll take you to a safe place,” Antoine explained, “I’ve got a safe house up in Toronto.”

“Really?” Hugh looked surprised.

“Yes,” Antoine nodded, “Just so happens we’ll be close enough to check in.”

“You’ll be checking in?” she asked, warily.

“Only to be sure that you’re safe,” Hugh assured her, “Unfortunately, it’ll be a while before we can unite you with Glen again. His first instinct would be to relocate you to another place, which would probably end up being less secretive.”

She nodded and was silent for a long time. Hugh turned back around in his seat. The car just kind of hummed its engine for a long time.

“So…uh…” she decided to make some small talk, “How’s this safe house?”

 

*********************************************************************

 

Glen glanced in his rear view mirror. Most of the men here were unfamiliar to him. They all came from some other bases. Save for a few exceptions, half of them were from BLU, and the other half were from RED. The Soldier was propped up back to back with a RED uniformed Engineer, talking about something.

He wondered what they were discussing. He could not imagine what kind of intelligent conversations one could have with the Soldier. Then again, Hugh was able to have decent conversations with him, apparently.

As the sun rose overhead, and they came to a rest stop. They were quite a few towns away, and they stayed in that area for a few days. There was a quiet little motel where people did not ask questions. There were plenty of cheap rooms for them to take up. Not to mention the ability to walk right to every spot in town. They had a nice little pub, a library, several parks, a housing area, a grocery store, a liquor store, and even a much nicer hotel to stay in. They remained in the cheap motel though, since it was cheap and they did not seem to really care either way.

Growing restless, day after day, Glen decided that it was time to go see home. Even if he was only there for a minute to check up on her, it was better than nothing. It was better than sitting here. One could only enjoy juke boxes and out dated hat fashions that Spy could have complained about all day, before they grew stir crazy.

Whatever he had become, it drove him up the wall. He decided to make the trip there alone, taking his camper. They would not need it for a while, and if he got stuck anywhere he would have a place to sleep.

When he arrived, he was happily ready to see her on the other side of the door. When he tried to open the lock though, he could not get it to open. That was strange but not entirely unusual. Maybe she had an issue with neighbors or burglars and had to change the locks last minute. He looked around for a spare key, but found nothing, not in any of the normal hiding spots.

He went to his truck and grabbed some tools from the back. He brought them over to help him release the lock. He managed to get it open and stepped into a dimly lit and almost empty house. The furniture was still there. The couch was in its place in front of the television, but there was something empty. The television usually had a small family photo with Esperanza as a newborn between them beside it. The front door itself usually had a bunch of shoes, of which even his own were gone. The coats were gone as well, leaving an empty coat rack.

He continued into the house, stepping warily. He could not be too careful. The house was silent he seemed to be alone. Even of his memories, he seemed to be alone, as he found the rest of the house had been stripped of its personality. It had its curtains and even the table setting, but Melisa’s clothes were gone, his shoes were gone, Esperanza’s entire closet was gone. Even the baby crib was there, but Esperanza’s toys and blankets had all but vanished.

Everything of Melisa and Esperanza had been picked up and taken away. He could not believe it. There were only two options in which this had happened. The first that came to mind was that Gray had come for her and would soon use her as blackmail, or she had picked up and left on her own. The first seemed worse than the second, but either way, he was distraught.

He knelt by the bed on which he had last made love to her. His body trembled as he thought about what she must be going through. Either fear of Gray, or simply regret that he chose work over her. He was certainly regretting it.

 

*********************************************************************

 

AFTERWARD

Melisa got settled into a safe house on a small ranch in Toronto. She lost contact with most people, other than the two Spies, and she bought some sheep for Esperanza to play with. As Antoine promised, it was the safest place they could be, and Mann Co was none the wiser.

Hugh and Antoine found themselves in Toronto with the other two Spies. They did not really talk to them unless they had to. They started working as some sort of secretaries, before they were later moved up to making commentary of films they watched of other mercenaries who were still fighting, still unaware of what was going on.

Hugh takes it a day at a time, waiting for the day that he is free from his contract. Sometimes he searches the tapes he is given for any sign of the Soldier or the Sniper, but neither of them show up. Antoine on the other hand tries not to think about it anymore. He was able to do it for a long time, why should this be any different? He still keeps a picture of him and Drake that they took together back before they visited the boy’s mother at her grave.

Miss Pauling went back to handling teams. As promised, Gray provided her with more opportunities to do projects like the one in Mexico, only she could do them in the States as well. She started by mixing men and women in bases, something that had not been done before. It was a shaky start, but already proved beneficial, as the women who had been fighting the same women day in and day out started fighting real men. She watches them sometimes, inspired that they stick together so well.

Glen returned to where the others were. They moved forward from their location to hunker in an abandoned base. They started gathering supplies and making plans. They even added some underground additions, in case Mann Co came knocking.

Dooley kept a close eye on Andrew. Not having Hugh around to remind him, Andrew forgot his medication in the car and never thought to get more. He regressed and started having night terrors.

Maxwell began working as the base’s main Medic, directing the reconstruction of the infirmary into something that could handle a larger number of mercenaries. This required a lot of extra help from the Engineers.

Drake continued getting medical help from the Medics. He does physical therapy every day with Andrew. Every day he gets a little better at staying balanced, being able to almost walk with just a cane and even to hold a pencil, but his eyes remain incapable of seeing. The Medics agreed that this is permanent. Having nowhere else to go, he stays on the grounds of family, given Andrew is like a father to him.

They’ve all but assumed that the Spies are dead. Dooley is a bit disappointed to have lost a couple of friends, but Drake and Andrew take it the harshest. Drake grew used to Andrew now, and clung to him like he might lose him. Not having any other option, Andrew tried to hold onto what was left of his own sanity so he could be there for the Scout.

The Russian Spy went back to her job with her team, who now not only fought with women, but also with men. Her team became the first unbroken team, as no man fit the classes quite like the women they picked up along the way, yet they managed to put up an equivalent fight.

THE END

 

For this series…obviously there is a whole lot more to their lives than just this…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series was really fun to write. Quite the bittersweet ending, if I do say so. Mostly bitter. Lots of bitter.
> 
> I will be getting back into Men of Red, which will be following this series (in the timeline) and these characters will not only make appearances but become part of what is going on in the big picture.  
> I mentioned before that I will be posting a timeline, I just have to get to a computer where I can do that. When I do, I will post it to the Mann Co Productions collection.  
> If you want to see more about where these characters are going, the stories will be on my profile and in the Mann Co Productions Collection.  
> Let me know if you want to read backstories about certain characters, or if you are curious about certain stories of certain characters, or if you have any theories about where they'll go next. Feel free to leave a comment! I love theories!


End file.
